


Love/Hate

by CraftyUsername37927



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Love/Hate, M/M, Roommates, Slow Burn, ziam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2304095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CraftyUsername37927/pseuds/CraftyUsername37927
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn is a shy but beautiful, overachieving double major headed to his first year at NYU.  By luck of the draw he ends up with a jerk for a roommate.  But not just any jerk.  A stuck-up, totally insufferable, slobbish, idiotic, drunken, blonde-haired, brown-eyed, ripped, sexy-as-fuck, soccer playing jerk.  Right from the start, sparks start to fly.  Zayn never knew he could grow to hate someone so much.  Never knew someone could ignite every fiber of his being with intense, passionate, fiery rage.  But sometimes the lines begin to blur between hate and passion of a not so very different sort.<br/>SLASH.  ZIAM.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue:  God, I Hope I Get It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all!! So I thought I would venture into the world of 1D fan fiction since Zayn is basically sex in skinny jeans. This will be a Ziam fic with eventual explicit M/M content so if that’s not your thing then just turn around and go back where you came from. This will be a slower burn fic so don’t expect anything hot hot hot just yet. 
> 
>  
> 
> NOTICE: As this is an AU fic, I am hereby letting it be known that I have taken liberties with many details, such as Zayn’s tattoos, personality, and family structure/history. So please don’t be THAT reader that feels the compulsive need to “correct” me at every turn. I am well aware of what I am doing. 
> 
> Thanks and enjoy!

**  
**

 

* * *

 

Zayn sighs as he studies himself in the mirror.  Today is the big day.  The day he leaves home for college.  Unlike most kids, he has already been out of high school for two years.  He graduated when he was sixteen, covering all his coursework in two and a half years as opposed to the normal four.  He spent that extra time working three jobs to help his parents save up enough money to even make college a possibility.  

He’s made the courageous decision to attend NYU as a double major.  In a nerve-wracking application process, he had to first file a Common Application with the university itself.  In addition he had to submit a video recording of himself to the Steinhardt School to request admissions to the Bachelor of Music program.  Since he planned to specialize in String Studies, he had to record a movement of Bach (for which he had chosen the _Adagio_ from his Sonata No. 1 in G Minor) and a movement from a concerto in the standard repertoire (for which he recorded the passionate first movement of Felix Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor, Op. 64).  

The wait to hear back was excruciating, but it was almost just as terrifying to find out that he had been called back to an onsite audition.  For this audition he had to prepare _two_ movements from Bach’s unaccompanied sonatas or partitas.  _Memorized._   After much deliberation, he finally settled on both the _Largo_ and _Allegro assai_ from the Sonata No. 3 in C Major.  More stressing yet, he had to perform the first or last movement from a standard Romantic concerto.  _Also memorized._ His first instinct was to use the piece he had most recently been working on with his private instructor:  Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D Major, Op. 35.  The first movement approaches 20 minutes long so would be unrealistic for an audition.  Which leaves the third and final movement:  the virtuosic _Finale: Allegro vivacissimo._ However, this piece lies at the very edge of his capabilities.  He could go to New York and pull it off, almost assuring him a place.  Or he could choke and humiliate himself in the musical equivalent of a train wreck.  

In the end, his tutor didn’t give him a choice in the matter.  He insisted that Zayn could pull it off if he dedicated himself to succeeding.  He had zero doubts.  Zayn isn’t ashamed to admit that he may have teared up a little during that particular conversation.  

And so he was committed.  He spent at least six to eight hours a day practicing.  He played until his fingers were numb and raw, and then calloused.  When he wasn’t practicing, he was studying the score.  Memorizing every note, every articulation, every tempo and dynamic marking.  He spent days contemplating the piece.  Discovering new subtleties and nuances with every rehearsal.  He researched the history and ideologies of Tchaikovsky and his motivations in composing the work.  He listened to dozens of recordings by professional violinists, recognizing and appreciating the differences in interpretations and playing styles.  He strove to find a balance between playing what the composer intended and finding room to add his own personal touches.  To make the performance his own.   The music became so ingrained in his being that his fingers would run through passages in his sleep.  He would wake up in the middle of the night with new ideas to mark in the score.  Every time he closed his eyes, the endless lines of notes would scroll across his vision.  It became an obsession.  Never before had he been so dedicated to something in his life.  He knew his _dadee_ would have been proud.  

On the big day, despite shaking like an earthquake and barely able to breathe, Zayn stood before the imposing panel of admissions counselors and performed as if his life depended on it. He nearly collapsed after the final note.  A silent tear tracked down his face.  Months of work had led up to this moment.  And just like that it was all over.  He had left everything he had on that lonely and unforgiving stage.  It was far from perfect, but also far from the disaster he was convinced it was going to be.  As least he thinks it wasn’t terrible.  He’s pretty sure.  Ok so maybe it wasn’t that great.  They’re probably laughing to themselves about him.  They think he’s a joke.  He never should have come here.  He doesn’t belong.  He was kidding himself. 

The empty space was filled with the harsh echoes of scratching pens as each of the judges scribbled furiously on their audition forms.  With each passing second that felt like an eternity, Zayn’s confidence dropped further and further until he was sure that he had made a fool of himself.  Finally one of the judges simply uttered a solemn “thank you” and they watched silently as Zayn self-consciously shuffled off the stage.     

He hurriedly stashed his violin back into his case and practically ran out of the building back to his car.  He refused to cry on the drive back to the hotel, no matter how much he wanted to just let it all go.  His mom’s congratulations died on her tongue when he stormed into the suite, so he knew he must have looked distraught.  His resolve crumbled immediately, the dam breaking and the pent-up tears and frustration exploding out of him.  As a testament to how great of a mom she is, she never once asked him what happened in the audition, for which he was eternally grateful.  She just wrapped him up in a warm embrace and held on tight until his shaking stopped.  And then neither of them mentioned the ordeal again. 

 

* * *

 

The drive back home was light-hearted and familial, but that subtle tension still underlaid their conversations.  When they arrived back home in Saranac Lake, the familiar low-key town helped ease Zayn’s nerves and quiet his fears.  He made his way inside, fended off the curiosity of his little sisters, and locked himself away in his room.  He stripped down to his boxers and curled up under his blankets.  He did not cry again but he couldn’t stop thinking about the audition.  He thought about all of the mistakes he made.  What he should have done better or differently.  What creative decisions he should or should not have made.  Hours later he finally drifted off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

After that night, he refused to dwell on music school anymore.  After all he didn’t have all his eggs in one basket.  Despite the demands on his time and effort of the audition process, Zayn still had the second major program he had applied for.  Music isn’t his only passion in life.  He loves science.  More specifically he has a fervent interest in biology, particularly the physiological and molecular mechanisms that make life possible.  He decided to combine these interests with his enthusiasm for helping others by also applying to NYU’s prestigious Polytechnic School of Engineering to pursue a Bachelor of Science degree in their Chemical and Biomolecular Engineering program.  While he wasn’t sure yet where he wanted to take his career, this program would provide a rigorous and thorough foundation for basically any path in the field, from biomedical research to clinical-based programs.   

Many people, including his high school counselor, cautioned him against such a double major pursuit.  Hell, he thought he was crazy.  Either of the programs on their own presents a challenge that many would find insurmountable.  Combined they would be practically undoable.  The standard four years of undergraduate education would be out of the question.  The admissions committee suggested at least six years to complete the two programs, although Zayn is determined to complete them in five to save his mom money.  He thinks he can accomplish it by taking most of his general education requirements over the summers.  

Of course, now it seems that he will probably only have to worry about the engineering program.  If he can even get into that…

Although there is no question that he is academically competitive, regardless of his musical misgivings.  He graduated with a 4.0 grade point average and valedictorian of his small high school; received AP credits in biology, calculus, physics, English Literature and Composition, History, and Latin; achieved a score of 43 out of 45 in the International Baccalaureate program which places him in the top 1% of candidates and provided invaluable exposure to multidisciplinary learning and research;  surprised even himself by earning perfect SAT scores; and won recognition and a scholarship as a National Merit Finalist.  There was a lot of pressure for him to pursue an Ivy League education but he had his heart set on NYU, his father’s alma mater.  Even if his parents were no longer together.  His dad had a lot of issues but that doesn’t mean he was ever a bad parent.  

It was just a few days after the audition debacle that Zayn received his acceptance letter from the Polytechnic School.  In addition, they were offering him a staggering amount of scholarship money that was potentially the only thing making this whole college thing feasible.  They had also invited him into the distinguished ranks of the Engineering Honors Program, which would provide him with a superior educational experience by fostering critical thinking and creativity.  The program is renowned for its rigorous, interdisciplinary focus and individualized curriculum, molding young students into leaders in their field.  

Zayn is so happy that he convinces himself that he doesn't even care about the music program anymore.  This is exactly what he has been waiting for.  Recognition that all his efforts were worth it.  That his sacrifice of a normal adolescence for high academic achievement was not in vain.  His career was finally within reach even if he didn’t know exactly what that career was going to be yet.  He didn’t even realize how much weight he had been bearing on his shoulders until most of it finally came crashing down in his footsteps.  The path ahead was daunting, to be sure, but he was more confident now than he had ever been before.  

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, Zayn was just walking through the front door after one of his shifts at the local library when he immediately sensed something off in the atmosphere.  His sisters were staring at him, all wide eyes and sparkling grins.  His mom gave him a knowing little smirk and asked how his day had been.  

“What’s going on?”  Zayn asked suspiciously.  She enthusiastically ignored him and suggested that he head upstairs to clean up before dinner, winking at him conspiratorially.  Zayn furrowed his brow and tried to stare her down, but she simply flicked him on the nose and marched right past his astonished face and back into the kitchen.  

For unexplainable reasons, his heart was hammering away in his chest as he cautiously ascended the stairs and crept into his room.  A single white envelope was laying on his pillow.  He dropped his bag absentmindedly and grabbed the doorframe, suddenly lightheaded.  

He wasn’t ready for this.  But he couldn’t resist the temptation either.  He stumbled forward and collapsed onto the bed, snatching the letter as if it might try to escape.  He stared unseeing at the front of the ominous white rectangle for several moments before the neat, printed label came into focus.  

His dread was confirmed.  The letter was from the NYU Steinhardt School Department of Music.   His fingers unconsciously clenched down, slightly crumpling the envelope.  He started to shake.  This was too much.  He didn’t understand.  His education was already set with the engineering school.  He should not be this freaked out over the contents of this letter.  But he was.

Fifteen minutes later he was still poised, motionless, in the same spot, staring down at that infernal paper.  His mother discretely peaked in on him once but quickly retreated when he jumped and gazed at her like a deer in the headlights.  

There came a point when he could no longer put it off any longer without going insane.  So with trembling fingers he carefully unsealed the envelope.  He pulled the single sheet of paper out and clumsily unfolded it.  His eyes quickly scanned down each line until he reached the end.  And then he read it again.  And again.  And then twice more.

Eventually his mother came back into the room.  He looked up at her blankly.  Numb.  

She raised her eyebrows expectantly.  He slowly looked down at the quivering paper in his hands before carefully holding it out to her.  He couldn’t look at her as she read it, so he stared down at his feet.  His eyes jerked back up when she made a small incoherent sound.  She had a hand held over her mouth, eyes glistening.  

Zayn couldn’t stop the way the corner of his mouth quirked up.  His mother dropped the paper and let out an embarrassing squeal.  She rushed towards him and he jumped up to meet her in a tight hug.  Both of them descended into a fit of hysterical giggles and hopped up and down until they ended up in a heap on the floor.  When they finally calmed down, Zayn looked over to find his mom with tears flowing freely down her cheeks.  She reached over and squeezed his cheek affectionately like she used to do when he was a youngster.  

“I..am _so…proud_ of you,” she said haltingly.  Zayn had to swallow back a lump in his throat as incomprehensible warmth welled up inside of him. 

“Now,” she continued, under control again.  “Get ready for dinner.  I made something special for you.”  She pulled herself off the floor and hurried back out the door.  

Zayn sighed and crawled over to the discarded letter, reading through it yet again.  

Long story short he had been accepted into the music program.  The review of his audition had used the words “exceptional”, “refreshing”, and “unparalleled”.  They commented on his unique interpretation of Tchaikovsky.  Noted the flaws.  And yet commended him on a completely unexpected and rare performance.  They particularly stressed how much they looked forward to contributing to his development as a musician and to enable him to tap into his full potential that they just barely glimpsed in the audition.  Furthermore, based solely on the audition, they are offering to cover the remainder of his tuition expenses left over from his engineering scholarships. 

The final paragraph of the letter was the most overwhelming of all.  In an unprecedented move, they promised him the second chair spot in the NYU Symphony, the premier ensemble at the university.  As a formality, he still had to progress through the ensemble audition process but his place was preemptively guaranteed.  They even went so far as to explain to him that while he is skilled and disciplined enough to meet the requirements of concertmaster, they want him to have the chance to work towards that goal while in school and to achieve a more thorough foundation in music theory first.  And also to hopefully circumvent potential confrontation with the graduate student currently holding the spot.  However, she is completing her PhD this year and so the spot will soon become vacant.

Finally the pieces were falling into place.  Everything was coming up Zayn Malik.  

 

* * *

 

 And so here he is, about to embark on life’s next big adventure.  And all he can think about is how it could be so much better than this.  

He had donned a pair of snug black jeans with a white v-neck tee and a washed-out red hoodie.  The top edge of a tattoo is peaking out above his tee, so he zips up the sweatshirt to hide it away.  No reason to give people something else to talk about when he gets there.  

His pitch dark hair is longish and unstyled so it sticks out in a thousand different directions, but he doesn’t really care.  He had decided to go clean-shaven as opposed to the usual scruffiness he had been sporting lately.  He sighs and picks up his glasses, sliding them onto his face.  They are a black, horn-rimmed style, trendy in a very geek-chic kinda way.  Combined with his slightly unkempt appearance, he sort of resembles a scholarly street punk.  Especially if his tats are showing.  They are the one way he has found to rebel against his good boy, nerdy stereotype.  He spent a ton of time as a teen working for the neighbors to raise money for them.  And since he was learning a good work ethic along the way, his parents didn’t mind too much as long as he didn’t get anything profane or explicit or that he would regret in twenty years.

His mom had always told him that he was “ruggedly handsome” with a “dark and mysterious” air about him, whatever that means.  Most of the time he feels like she’s just saying that because it’s her duty as a mom.  And even if it’s true, he kind of shoots himself in the foot with how overwhelmingly shy he is.  He struggles with simple, everyday social interactions.  Mix that with the fact that he spent nearly 100% of his time studying or working and you get a rather pathetic childhood.  He had a couple friends, sure, but they were the same kind of motivated, nerdy kids as him.   So he never had to sit alone at lunch but he rarely hung out with them outside of school unless they had a class project or something.  Plus he had soon left them behind with his accelerated curriculum.   

He had never been invited to a party.  He had never gone to a school dance.  He’d never even been on a date.  Not that he would know what to do if he had done any of those things.  Especially a date.  And especially if it was a girl.  He had realized a long time ago that he didn’t feel the way about girls that society expected him to.  And he certainly had feelings towards boys that deviated from “normal”.  He had to rein in wandering eyes in the locker room during PE and limited the amount of time he ever spent talking to guys.  He’s never felt comfortable in his own skin because he feels things that high school culture tells him are wrong.  And unnatural.  He suspects that’s a huge reason that he has such severe social anxieties.  And definitely why he inks his skin.  For some form of control over his body since he can’t control the way he feels. 

He runs his eyes over his reflection one last time with a deep sigh and then flicks the bathroom light off.  He has one last possession to pack and it’s his most valuable.  Maybe not in a monetary sense, but in sentimental value it’s priceless.  He picks the violin up off the bed and runs his fingers reverently down the surface.  He still marvels at how much lighter it is than you would expect.  The wood is dull and worn, belying the age of the instrument, but Zayn has meticulously maintained it in working order.  He had received the violin from his _dadee_ when he was just six years old.  She could no longer play with any degree of success due to her arthritis.  Even she could never have known then how much she would change the course of Zayn’s life.  He wishes she was still there to see him now…but he isn’t going to dwell on that right now.   

Some small part of himself almost hopes that college will be different.  That he might find people that he can truly call friends.  That he doesn’t have to hide who he really is.  That he could be accepted.  That maybe he could even find a boy.  A boy who is like him.  Who feels the same things as he does.  Who’s just as…abnormal.

But he knows he’s once again fooling himself.  That’s not the way the world works.  And even if it was, he would still be too shy to take advantage of those opportunities.  Not that he would have time for any of that stuff anyway, what with being both an engineering and a music major.  He should just resign himself now to the fact that he has a lonely, exhausting college career ahead of him.  Keep his head down and just focus on his coursework.  

Of course there is still the whole roommate situation.  The best he can hope for is an intensely unattractive, antisocial boy that doesn’t cause any problems and won’t make things more awkward than they’re already bound to be. 

 

If he only knew…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew….getting started is always the hardest. Hope you enjoyed the setup. Let me know by….you guessed it! Reviewing!!!! WOOOOHOOOOO!!!!! YEAH!!!! 
> 
> You know you want to ;)


	2. What Is This Feeling?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot woot! Here we go with the first chapter proper. 
> 
> Enter half number two of our dynamic duo.
> 
> Disclaimer: I unfortunately do not own either of these boys.

* * *

 

 

Zayn looks around in awe as they walk down the city streets.  Despite living in New York, he had actually only been to the Big Apple a few times.  And he had been far too stressed out to enjoy it during his audition day. But today he feels free as a bird and just soaks it all in.  The sheer frenetic energy of it all is contagious and has him practically vibrating with barely suppressed enthusiasm.  

Through a combination of subway, taxi, and walking they finally make it to 4th Street and head towards the Jeffrey S. Gould Welcome Center.  Anywhere else, the imposing concrete building would have towered over everything.  But here in NYC it is still dwarfed by many of the buildings around it. 

Zayn takes a deep breath and follows his mom through the fancy archway as his sisters cling tightly to his hands.  His future awaits inside the maw of the beast.  

 

* * *

 

After an excruciating hour of minutiae, paperwork, and proffered finger foods they are finally done in the welcome center and can head for his residence hall.  Which just so happens to be the brand spanking new Founders Hall, a 26 floor high rise in downtown Manhattan reserved strictly for Freshman.  He suspects that his stellar application had a little something to do with that.

And so they begin the trek over to 12th Street.   

“Whoa…”  Zayn breathes out when he realizes which building is his.  Founders Hall is a sleek, ultramodern tower of concrete and glass.  It looks like the office building for some major business corporation.  There is no way this is actually where he lives.  Strangely the courtyard is decorated with the front facade and wrought-iron fence of an old church.  

Trying not to look too overwhelmed, Zayn makes his way in to the lobby where there is a line for the check-in tables.  Another half hour of paperwork later and he has his keys and ID card and is heading back out to meet his dad.  He greets his old man with a high five and then proceeds to open up the back of the truck, instantly unstrapping and pulling his violin case out and hanging it over his shoulder.  Then he grabs a couple more random bags and heads back across the courtyard.  En route a solid, fast-moving body collides with him sending him sprawling on the pavement and his violin flying into a flower bed.  

“What the fuck is your problem?” Zayn snaps without even looking at his assailant.  He jumps up and hurries over to rescue his baby, brushing the dirt off and checking for damage.  Only then does he realize his vision is blurry, apparently because his glasses had been dislodged.  

“Language, Zayn!,” his mom admonishes as she hurries over to help with the moving truck.  

“Yeah, language, Zany,” a mocking, unfamiliar voice jeers.  

Zayn jerks his head towards the sound, locking onto the vague outline of a group of four or five people standing and watching him.  He then scans the ground in vain for his glasses, already regretting not putting his contacts in.

“Looking for these?”  another new, gruffer voice teases.  

Zayn homes in on him to see an indistinct black something held out in the air.  

“Give them back!” he snaps, on the verge of hyperventilating.  This is way too much social interaction all at once.  He takes a step towards them and…immediately trips over one of the other bags he dropped and almost falls again.  

“ _Give them back!”_ the first voice mimics.  “God, what a loser.”

“Is there a problem here,” an official sounding voice asks.

“No, not at all,” the tormentor doesn’t even miss a beat, all smooth and saccharine sweet.  “This kid just lost his glasses.” 

Without a second’s delay his glasses are shoved back into his outstretched palm.  He quickly slots them back on his face, sighing in relief as the world comes back into focus.

And _holy fucking shit._

Of _course_ the jerkwad who tackled him is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen in his life.  All perfectly gelled blonde hair and deep, chocolatey brown eyes that sparkle in the sunlight.  Similarly to the rest of the group, he’s wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off to showcase his sinfully beautiful arms.  He’s holding a soccer ball, casually tossing it from hand to hand.  He has the most perfect tan in the history of UV radiation and fuck if his sculpted biceps aren’t positively lickable.  

_Oh god,_ Zayn thinks to himself.  _I did not just think that.  I have got to get ahold of myself…_

_“_ Ok well let me know if you need anything,” the presumed RA chimes over-cheerfully before scurrying off in search of other lost souls.  

As soon as she’s out of earshot the guys start laughing again.  

“What’s in there, dorkazoid?”  the burly, ogreish looking guy who had taken his glasses pipes up, indicating Zayn’s violin case.  

Zayn wants to reply with “none of your business” and scoff at his pathetic, immature attempt at name-calling but he knows better.  It would just make his life more miserable later to provoke them.  And so he chooses to just keep his mouth shut entirely.  

By this point, Zayn’s parents are walking back with their own loads of stuff so Zayn turns his back on the troublemakers and falls into step beside them.  They almost make it through the door when the soccer ball beams Zayn in the back with a loud thud.  Zayn freezes but refuses to turn around as his eyes water in a mixture of pain and humiliation.  A belated, disingenuous apology floats over from the pack of miscreants and Zayn grits his teeth.  His mom looks at him sadly, but she too knows better than to intervene.  It would only make the bullying worse.

Zayn squares his shoulders and stalks inside.  His room is on the 23rd floor so they head straight for the elevators.  He finds the door already unlocked so he pushes his way in.

And lets out a pained groan.  

The room is a mess.  Apparently whoever his roommate is had already moved in.  And it looks like he’s been there awhile.  

The room is surprisingly spacious.  There are wardrobes and loft beds on either side of the room, and two desks side-by-side against the far wall.  The desks overlook the city through two large windows.  

Overall it would be nice.  If there wasn’t dirty laundry thrown everywhere.  On _both_ sides of the room.  And if there weren't stacks of dirty, crusty dishes on the desks.  Or empty pizza boxes on the floor.  

“Oh my…” his mother comments unhelpfully.  

“Typical,” is Zayn’s only reply.  

“This is unacceptable,” his dad growls in his usual proud, indignant tone.  “We’re going to have to have a talk with this kid.”

“I’ll handle it,” Zayn rushes to appease him.  The last thing he needs is for people to think he still needs Daddy to solve his problems.  

“You sure, hon?” his mom inquires kindly.  “I’m sure we can talk to the RA and get this dealt with quickly.”

“No!” Zayn snaps a little more harshly than he means to.  He turns and smiles softly at her.  “It’s ok.  I’m sure we can work it out ourselves.”

 

* * *

 

A couple hours and too many elevator trips later and they had managed to haul everything up to the room.  Thankfully, the soccer posse had dispersed.  There had been no sign of his roommate either.  

They splurge on dinner at Del Frisco’s to celebrate and then it’s time for the goodbyes.  There are many tears on his mom’s part, much screaming and clinging by Waliyha and Safaa, and dozens of hugs all around before Zayn is finally waving a last farewell as his family sets off down the street towards the subway.  

He lets out a massive sigh, exhausted from all the excitement of the day, and heads back up to his room.  He puffs his cheeks out exasperatedly as he’s reminded of the wreck.  His original plan was to just ignore the mess until he can make whatever-his-name-is clean it up, so he sits on his bare mattress.  His foot starts tapping agitatedly.  He fidgets with his hands.  He clicks his tongue.  His eyes dart around restlessly.  Until finally he can’t handle it anymore.  He gingerly picks up a discarded tee and drops it on the other guy’s bed.  Then he grabs another and another until he’s collected all the laundry in a pile.  Then he gathers up the dishes, hauls them to the bathroom down the hall, and dumps them unceremoniously into a sink.  He takes the pizza boxes and other garbage down to the trash room.  

Once the room is as clean as he can get it, he puts his clothes away in the wardrobe and dresser.  Then he stocks his desk, fastidiously dresses down the bed, and begins decorating.  He hangs several posters of his favorite classical composers mixed with ones of human anatomy over his bed.  He puts together a replica model of Watson and Crick’s DNA double helix to set on his desk.  And finally sticks a bunch of musical note decals on his window.  

Suddenly he sniffs.  And then wrinkles his nose.  The room already smells like boy.  All stale sweat, spoiled food, and Axe fumes.  Zayn digs out a bottle of Febreeze and goes to town on the opposite side of the room, dousing everything in sight.  He breathes deeply, giving himself a satisfied smile.  

He contemplates practicing some more for his NYU Symphony audition but decides he’s too tired, so he grabs his copy of _The Lord of the Rings_ and starts reading for the bazillionth time.  He’s almost drifted off to sleep when the door bangs open violently.  And standing in the doorway is none other than the muscle-bound, chiseled-jaw, I-like-to-tackle-innocent-bystanders-for-no-reason, Greek god.  

“Well, well, well…” the intruder purrs dangerously.  Zayn tries not to think about how sexy his voice is, as if that boy needs anything else going for him.  “If it isn’t Zany boy himself.”

“You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me,” Zayn spits out, rolling his eyes and jumping up off the bed to put his book away.  This is just perfect.  What did he do to ever deserve this?  “It’s _Zayn_ ,” he adds waspishly.  

The boy wonder takes a few steps into the room before freezing and taking a deep breath.  

“Why the fuck does it smell like flowery shit in here?” he demands angrily.

“You stink,” Zayn replies casually, straightening out the wrinkles in his duvet.  

“Excuse me?”  Blondie exclaims indignantly.  “And where the fuck are my dishes?”

“The bathroom.”

“Why?”

“Because as long as they’re dirty, I don’t want to see or smell them.”

“You fucker.”

“Cry me a river.  And then use the tears to wash your nasty clothes,” Zayn snaps back, shooting a dirty look at the pile of laundry still tainting the room.  

Too late, Zayn realizes the boy is still holding the soccer ball and is cranking his arm back to throw it.  He fakes slinging it forward, and Zayn is mortified by the way he can’t keep from jumping back and squeezing his eyes shut.  The boy lets out a derisive laugh before tossing the ball into the corner and then stripping off his shirt, naturally tossing it in the middle of the floor rather than with the rest of his laundry. 

_Oh god,_ Zayn laments to himself.  _Fuck if he couldn’t literally wash his clothes on his own fucking abs…._

Zayn shakes his head to clear the dirty thoughts out of his head and busies himself with organizing his desk and resolutely not staring at the torso on display.  

_How can someone be so attractive and yet so utterly repugnant at the same time???_

He hears the jackass snort contemptuously and he can’t help but look over at him curiously.  Which he instantly regrets since the blonde has also ditched his shorts and is standing there in nothing but a pair of loose, bright red boxer shorts.  He is running his eyes haughtily over Zayn’s posters with a sneer marring his beautiful face.

“God, you are such a geek,” he scoffs, before dragging a towel out of the laundry pile and knocking most of it on the floor in the process.  He snags a bag on his way out the door, leaving Zayn steaming in his wake.  

“Of all the arrogant, self-important, infuriating assholes _,”_ Zayn mutters bitterly to himself.     

He quickly changes into a pair of plain gray pajama pants and takes off his hoodie, planning to just sleep in his white tee.  He neatly folds his jeans and sweatshirt and lays them in his clothes basket.  Then he sits down at his desk to journal before bed.  He tries to chronicle the important events of his day every night, striving to focus on the positives to help himself remain optimistic.  As difficult as that may be on days like today.  

He is just adding the finishing touches when the door opens behind him.  He takes the avoidance route this time and refuses to turn around.

That is until Blondie calls out, “Yo!  Zany boy!”

Zayn whips around in his seat to correct him yet again but barely has time to register the fact that a living, breathing Michelangelo sculpture is standing in his room dripping wet and in a towel before his vision is flooded with crimson and he’s smacked in the face with the aforementioned pair of unpleasantly damp boxers.

Zayn is out of his chair and across the room in an instant.

“What the hell is your problem?” he yells.  Without thinking it through he raises his arms and shoves the brute.  Well attempts to shove really.  It was about like trying to shove a brick wall for all the good it does.  The larger male laughs in his face and easily knocks Zayn over onto his bed.  

“Stop embarrassing yourself,” he taunts.  

“Dickwad,” Zayn snaps back before he can stop himself from being so immature.

“It’s Liam, actually,” the blonde replies cooly.

So the pretty-faced devil has a name.  And of course it’s a sexy name.  Life is so not fair.

Zayn immediately turns away and holds out a hand to block the view when Liam drops the towel and tosses it over onto Zayn’s desk.  He storms over, determined not to ogle the naked boy, and snatches the wet towel, hurling it over his shoulder back at him.

“How the hell did you make such a mess already, anyway?” Zayn asks snidely.

“Early move-in,” Liam responds coldly.  Thankfully he’s pulled on a fresh(er) pair of athletic shorts but has apparently elected to remain shirtless.  “Soccer camp started a week ago.”

_So he’s an_ actual _soccer player.  Lovely.  I’m stuck living with a jock cliche._  

“Oh!” Zayn exclaims, feeling particularly spiteful now.  “So _that’s_ how you got into college.”

“FUCK YOU!” Liam bellows.  “Yeah I got in on a soccer scholarship,” he continues lowly.  “A full ride, in fact.  But while I’m the guy who is having fun, going to parties, and getting laid, you’re going to be the lame-ass freak that no one wants to talk to.  I know which one I would rather be.”

Zayn’s blood boils.  He’s never felt like this before.  Every fiber of his being is on fire.  He can feel his face burning scarlet.  He wants to body slam the cocky bastard.  He wants to beat the hell out of him.  To wipe that smug smile off his implausibly perfect face.  To ruin those unnatural good looks.  Partly because he hates the fact that his newfound arch nemesis is so ridiculously attractive.  But mostly because of how close to home that last jibe had hit.  It was like Liam had invaded his soul and stolen his deepest fears.  

Instead of doing something he’ll regret, Zayn bites down on his bottom lip, flings his glasses onto his dresser, and climbs under his blankets with his back turned on Liam.  He hears Liam loudly moving around the room and doing god-knows-what for another half hour before he flicks the light off and goes to bed himself.  He tries his best not to think about how those beads of water had cascaded down the precarious contours of the athlete’s chest.  How low the towel had been riding on his hips.  How that thin trail of hair dove down into a denser patch at the edge of the fabric.  How his firm pecs had felt under his hands when he shoved him.  But the images are burned into his brain and try as he might he can’t shake them.  The only thing he can do is think about what Liam said to him and let the attraction be overshadowed by seething anger.  He sleeps fitfully that night, visions of greek gods and killer soccer balls filling his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and let me know what you think!


	3. King of New York

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter turned out to be a bit of a beast, but there really wasn’t a good spot to split it up so here you go. Hope you enjoy!

 

Zayn’s alarm goes off at 6:00am just as planned.His eyes snap open and he’s instantly up and gathering a towel, toiletries bag, and change of clothes.He’s always been a morning person.  

“Wha’th’fuck…” comes the muffled yet clearly angry exclamation from the depths of Liam’s tangled blankets.He has a pillow plastered over his face.He’s apparently _not_ a morning person. 

“Ummmm…I’m getting ready to take a shower?” Zayn replies, bemused.  

Liam surfaces from beneath the covers and glares at him groggily.His hair is a tangled mess and his eyes are red and puffy.He glances at the clock and then collapses onto his back with a groan.  

“School doesn’t start for two more days,” he continues to grumble as Zayn makes his bed. 

“Your point?”

“Why the hell are you getting up at the ass-crack of dawn?”

“You may be content to sleep your life away but I have more productive things to do,” Zayn calls over his shoulder as he heads out into the hallway.He hears something that sounds suspiciously like a shoe hit the door behind him. 

He takes a quick, hot shower to fully wake up and then dresses in the relative privacy of the bathroom.Today he’s going with his usual black jeans and a black tee with the Green Lantern logo on the front.Then he pulls a gray NYU hoodie over top of it.He brushes, flosses and gargles and then heads back to the room.  

Liam is snoring when he comes in.So naturally Zayn flips the light on and starts rummaging around, banging drawers and jangling his keys.Finally he grabs his wallet and violin, ignores the irritated growls coming from the other bed, and marches out the door slamming it behind him and leaving the light on just for kicks.  

 

* * *

 

Technically Zayn doesn’t actually have anything productive planned for the day.Unless you count sight-seeing and wandering the streets of NYC to be productive.He figures he better enjoy his new home while he can, before school takes over his life.  

He carefully adjusts the strap of his violin on his shoulder and then sets off for the subway.He knows it’s a little silly to be carrying the instrument around with him but he doesn’t really like to be parted from it.Plus he really didn’t want to leave it unsupervised back with Mr. Crankypants.  

So maybe it isn’t his most brilliant idea to go walking around the city by himself.But who would he go with?The only person he knows here is a douchebag.Not really a valid candidate for the buddy system.He’s an observant person so he should be able to take care of himself and steer clear of sketchy situations.Just in case, he left his debit card and SSN back in his apartment and is only carrying a modest amount cash.So on the off chance he is mugged, he won’t lose too much outside of his dignity.  

Hopefully.

 

* * *

 

First stop is Washington Square Park, which is only about a 15 minute walk from Founders Hall.In fact, most of the buildings around the park are owned and operated by NYU.The park is dominated by a large, central fountain and the monumental Washington Arch, reminiscent of the Arc de Triomphe on the Champs-Elysees in Paris.Figuring he will end up spending a lot of time there during school, he doesn’t linger long.

From the park he tracks the routes he will be taking to get to his music classes and rehearsals and then over to the Polytechnic School.Once confident he can find them in his sleep, he decides to hit up all the major touristy spots.

He ascends the Empire State Building and snaps some aerial shots of the famous skyline.  He walks the length of the Brooklyn Bridge and back.  He visits the Guggenheim Museum just to see the acclaimed architecture, not feeling like paying to get in.  For lunch, he grabs an infamous NY hot dog from a street vendor.  

From there he swings by Ground Zero to pay his respects.It is probably a bad judgement call on his part since he isn’t handling it nearly as well as he thought he could.People are giving him sympathetic looks as silent tears slide down his cheeks.It’s dumb, really.He didn’t even lose anybody in the 9/11 attacks.Not directly anyway…

He wipes his face and hurries off before anymore bad memories surface.  

He heads up to the Bronx Zoo and spends a few hours visiting his favorite animals as therapy.  Feeling significantly better he skirts around Central Park and drops by the Lincoln Center, hoping to one day get the chance to perform there. 

For his last destination, he catches a ferry ride over to Liberty Island to see the fair lady.He gazes up at the neoclassical behemoth in awe, her verdigris glowing in the sunlight.He’s been up in the crown once before so he forgoes paying extra to do it again, content to just appreciate her from the ground.  

He eventually checks the time and decides he should probably head back to his apartment and clean up for this evening.He is treating himself to _Phantom of the Opera_ on Broadway tonight and needs to change into nicer clothes.  

He hops on a subway and rides back to the station nearest Founders Hall.He is just heading out of the tunnel when a sound floating over the crowd catches his attention.He stops and turns around towards the source.The familiar melodies of the Debussy sonata are drifting from around a corner.Against his better judgement, Zayn follows the music into a different section of the station.  

Leaning against the tunnel wall a few dozen paces away is a man that Zayn would normally steer clear of.He is obviously homeless, wearing incredibly dirty, ripped up clothes.His hair is long and grimy and almost as unpleasant as his beard.His open mouth reveals black and broken teeth.At least the few that are there.A mangy little dog is curled up by his feet.  

But most notable is the fact that the man is playing a violin.Debussy, no less.And he is _good._ His violin is in rough shape.The body is cracked and warped.Most of the horsehair from his bow is broken or frayed.It’s a miracle he’s getting any sound to come out of the instrument at all, let alone the beautiful music that is echoing around the vaulted space.A small crowd has gathered around him, some tossing some spare change into the ratty case laying open in front of him.

Zayn can only stare in disbelief as the man brings the piece to a close.Sparse clapping sounds from the audience, which draws more people over.The man adjusts a peg on the instrument, which judging from the state of the strings probably didn’t do much good.He raises the violin up and, despite the conspicuous lack of a chin rest, begins to play again.  

The song choice is so out of place that it takes Zayn several dumbfounded moments before he realizes that it’s an improvised rendition of Ariana Grande’s _Break Free_.Laughter rings out from the crowd as others pick up on it.A sudden impulse takes over Zayn’s thoughts.It’s crazy, really.But it’s just so perfect.

_Fuck it…_ he decides.  

He sets his case down by the wall and unzips it, pulling out his own violin and bow.And then looks around.He starts to breathe a little faster when he notices all the people looking at him.Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.He feels the familiar social panic start to set in. The man catches sight of him and gives him a rather toothless grin.Encouraged, Zayn tucks it under his chin and sets the bow to the strings.As soon as he coaxes the first note out of the instrument, his breathing calms.All his anxieties float away as he gets lost in the music.In his element.He’s never really attempted improvisation before aside from some pitch matching and harmonizing lessons with his tutor, but he finds it comes pretty naturally to him.At first he just matches pitch as best he can with the guy, but then he raises the stakes by striking up harmonies.He even throws in some double stops for three part harmonies, and is somewhat surprised when the man follows suit and adds in a fourth.  

At the second verse, the homeless man shifts gears and starts up a rapid, low ostinato that accurately imitates the background beat of the original song.Zayn takes the opportunity to open up a little, throwing in some acrobatic runs and octaves just for the hell of it and earning some cheers and whistles from the crowd.Then he picks up the bass line and the old man takes off with his own equally impressive bowing frenzy that plays off of Zayn’s perfectly.At the bridge they join together and hurtle into a full-fledged hurricane of ad lib virtuosity, each of them doing their own thing and yet still weaving together a cohesive whole that somehow manages to preserve the chorus melody amidst all the chaos.It’s a moment of pure magic.Zayn lets his eyes slide closed and he just feels the music permeate into the deepest parts of his being.It’s one of the most incredible experiences of his life.And certainly the most fun he’s ever had.

They have drawn quite the crowd by this point and pretty much continuous cheers are erupting around them.At the finale, the man races up into a loud, high, tremolo.Zayn plunges down to the lowest extreme of his instrument in double stops, bending from note to note, loving the feel of the strings sliding smoothly beneath his fingertips.Then he slides all the way up the string in one huge glissando to meet his partner’s tremolo for several beats before they both hit a final, staccato note.

Raucous applause erupts from the crowd as the spectators whoop and holler and money pours into his case.The homeless guy is looking a little misty eyed as he claps Zayn on the back.Zayn would have recoiled had it been just five minutes earlier, but now he feels a close, unexplainable connection to the man.Then he pulls out his wallet and hands the guy a twenty.Sure it’s probably more than he can afford to give away but it’s the least he can do to repay the guy for basically making his life.Plus he clearly needs the money.  

The man takes one look at the bill and immediately tries to hand it back, but Zayn forces his fingers closed around it and nods at him.  

“Thank you,” the man says.His voice is surprisingly warm and smooth and sincere.

“No problem, man.You’re incredible,” Zayn replies with a grin.  

“ _You_ are going to go places someday, kid.Remember me, will you?When you’re up on a big, fancy stage one day.Play for the both of us.”He sounds so wistful that Zayn gets a little choked up.It’s been such an emotional roller coaster of a day.  

“I sure will,”he manages to get out.After a few moments of studying the guy he asks, “What’s your name?”

The man looks sadly at him for a beat and then replies, “Marty’s what my parents called me back when they were still around.But most people just call me “the subway guy” anymore.” 

Zayn bites his lip thoughtfully.“I think I like Marty better.”

The man grins at that and nods again.  

Zayn pauses hesitantly before adding, “I’m Zayn.”

“Well, Zayn,” Marty states excitedly.“It was an honor getting to play with you.”

Zayn blushes and smiles at him.He accepts the praise without argument because he thinks he knows enough about Marty now to know that’s what he wants.But he also has the distinct certainty that the real honor is all his own.Then he bends down to put his violin back in his case.The man’s dog sneaks over and shyly sniffs at Zayn’s hands.  

“That’s Flea,” the man laughs heartily. 

Zayn cautiously scratches the dog on top of the head, making his tail wag furiously.He inwardly cringes at the name and the feel of his greasy fur.  

“He’s cute,” he lies anyway.  

“Isn’t he?” Marty gushes.“I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Zayn smiles sadly and zips up his case before standing and bidding Marty farewell.It was such a strange experience, and yet Zayn is sure that it is something that’s going to stick with him for the rest of his life.  

He is about twenty yards away when he has a random thought.He takes another couple steps, debating whether it’s good idea or not.But then he turns around and hurries back over to Marty who is packing up his meager belongings. 

The man looks at him in bewilderment but Zayn just wordlessly sets his case back down and opens up a hidden side pocket that he rarely has reason to delve into.Inside is his spare bow.Actually it’s not even really a spare.It’s an old, cheaper bow that he used when he was younger.It still has a good set of horsehair on it.He runs his hand down the wood, nostalgia almost overwhelming him as he remembers the day his _dadee_ gave this to him when he graduated from his “training” bow.He takes a deep breath and steels his resolve.He holds the bow out to Marty, who eyes it in disbelief.He shakes his head vehemently but Zayn just presses it into his hands.

“I don’t use this one anymore,” he assures him.Tears are actually falling from the guy’s eyes now as he gingerly takes the thin object with trembling fingers.Zayn rummages into a different pocket and pulls out a chunk of rosin and hands that to him as well.It’s relatively cheap so he can get more easily enough.  

“Keep spicing up the subways,” Zayn orders with a playful wink.And then he actually leaves, hoping that he gets to see Marty again sometime.  

 

* * *

 

He checks the time and lets out a quiet curse, breaking into a run down the street and into Founders Hall.He bounces impatiently on his feet in the elevator and then races into his apartment.Not even the sight of Liam and his thuggish friend from yesterday can wipe the exuberant smile off of his face.  

“Nerd Alert!” Liam proclaims loudly.Not to mention completely unnecessarily.  

“ _Obviously_ I am a nerd. Get over it,” Zayn counters breathlessly, never dropping his huge grin.He’s rather proud of himself for speaking up for once.Without stuttering or choking at all.  

Liam’s flunky guffaws stupidly.Zayn decides to refer to him as “Shrek” from now on.Paint him green and the resemblance really would be quite striking.  

Zayn sets his violin down on his bed.Then notices the two delinquents eyeing it beadily.Struck with inspiration, he searches through his desk until he finds his old combination lock from his job at the library.He pops it open and slips it through the two zippers on his case so that it can’t be opened and then stashes the whole thing in his wardrobe.He’s reasonably certain they wouldn’t go so far as to actually damage the case to get inside.Hopefully. 

He grabs his dress clothes off their hanger and heads for the showers to briefly rinse off and change.He dons a pair of slate gray slacks, a blood red button-up shirt, with a black vest and skinny tie, and patent leather shoes.The clothes are tailored specifically for him from his audition so they cling to his lean form and make him look slimmer than usual.And for once he takes a few minutes to style his hair into a swooping quiff.He debates whether or not to shave but decides to leave the five o’clock shadow.He also foregoes his contacts and just leaves his glasses on, thinking they make him look slightly more mature and sophisticated.

When he reenters the room, the jackasses’ conversation about the relative hotness of various college cheerleaders dies out.  

“Going to prom are you?” Liam snarks.But Zayn notices the boy eyeing him up and down strangely.  

He puts it out of his mind and opens his wardrobe one last time.His baby is still locked up and leaning against the side of the compartment at the same angle he had left it.He supposes he can leave it there and be reasonably safe.After all, he truly would look rather strange carrying it around a theater.If they would even let him bring it in. 

He grabs his ticket, wallet, and keys from his desk and rushes out of the room amidst flying insults from his enemies.But today they just bounce right off.Today, thanks to a homeless guy named Marty, Zayn is bulletproof.  

 

* * *

 

 “Oh…My…GOD!”

Zayn flinches as the unexpected shriek nearly busts his eardrums.He’s barely turned away from the merchandise table when he’s assaulted by a diminutive Asian girl.She’s about a foot shorter than him and wearing a tiny, black sleeveless dress.Her glossy black hair is streaked with purple and pulled back in a complicated knot.In a bit of a cliche, there are crossed chop sticks holding it all together.Before he can even gather his panicking thoughts she has ahold of his face, turning it side to side as if she’s examining his pores.  

“It’s you!” she exclaims, still talking excessively loud.Several people are eyeing them warily now.  

Zayn manages to extricate himself from her clutches and backpedals several steps, his heart pounding and his cheeks burning in embarrassment.He tries to stutter out that he doesn’t have a clue what she’s talking about but she just keeps jabbering right over him.

“The guy from the subway!” she squeals excitedly.An iPhone appears out of thin air in her hand and two seconds later a YouTube video is playing and she’s shoving it in Zayn’s face.He flinches away from her again.But then he’s distracted by the sound coming out of the phone.Forgetting his discomfort he grabs the phone to get a better look.Sure enough the video is of his impromptu performance with Marty just a couple hours before.He stares in disbelief at the marker showing over a hundred views already.

“My friend Kat was there,” she clarifies.“Recorded the whole thing, of course.Couldn’t wait to put it on our Facebook page.Are you an NYU student?Please tell me you’re an NYU student.Are you in the Symphony?You have to be.Oh god!” she gasps in horror.“ You’re not one of those Juilliard snobs, are you?Oh fuck.I’m sorry.That was rude.It really would be unfortunate though.You’re not, right?” 

Zayn is a little overwhelmed by how fast she is talking.Not to mention how intense her stare is, especially with her striking electric purple contacts and thick eyeliner.When he doesn’t respond right away, her foot starts tapping impatiently.That’s when he notices the ridiculous heels she’s wearing, making her even tinier than he originally thought.  

“Well?” she demands.“Do you speak English?Sprechen sie inglés?”  

“Ummm…” Zayn mumbles.“Y-yeah.I mean…I am…in the…uh…”

“Excellent!” she proclaims, as if she’s really talking to everyone in the entire lobby.“Violin, right?”

Before Zayn can even think to nod she’s surging on ahead, “Well, obviously.Of course you’re a violin.Silly me.I’m a double bass, of course.Second chair as a soph.Not too shabby, huh?”She elbows him playfully in the side as if they’re old friends, Zayn flinching yet again. 

He blinks rapidly, more confused than he can remember ever being in his life.For some reason he’s fixated on the fact that a double bass has got to be at least three times the size of the slight girl in front of him.Thankfully the overhead lights start blinking to indicate the show’s about to start, rescuing Zayn from further persecution.  

Or so he thinks.

“Well…bye,” he mumbles almost inaudibly before taking off as quickly as possible.  

He doesn’t make it far before his arm is caught in a vice-like grip.  

“Are you here alone?” the overbearing girl asks as if he hadn’t just tried to blatantly run away from her.“Me too,” she continues without waiting for an answer as usual.“My friend bailed last minute for a _frat party_ of all things.So you’re totally taking her seat.”

Zayn can only splutter incoherently as he’s dragged quite forcefully towards the theater.  

“So I’m assuming you’re a frosh?You’re going to love it here.I promise.Especially the Symphony.It’s such an…experience.On a totally spiritual level, you know?Is this your first Broadway show?How long have you been in the city?Which residence hall are you in?”

Zayn has yet to try to answer any of her questions, not that he could get a word in edgewise if he wanted to.Regardless she seems content to keep rapid firing one after the other.By this point they’ve reached her seat and apparently Zayn’s new one.She plops down happily, dragging him down with her.She crosses her legs classily and looks over at him with a huge grin.

“We are going to get along SO well, I can already tell,” she informs him adamantly.“I’m Vivian, by the way.But don’t ever let me hear you call me that.I don’t know _what_ my moronic parents were thinking.I will totes kick your ass into the next millennium.And don’t think I can’t.Us short people are deceptively vicious.”  

From what he’s seen so far, Zayn has no doubt about that. 

“You _can_ call me Vi, though.It’s the best I can do unfortunately.I can’t even use my middle name because it’s even worse. _Cho._ I mean, seriously?I am a third generation American, for fuck’s sake.Why do I need a Chinese name?I swear parents are so fucking clueless.Do you feel me?”

“Excuse me,” hisses the elderly woman on the other side of Vi.“Watch your mouth young lady.”

Vi whips her head around briefly with a sickly sweet, “So sorry ma’am,” before turning back to Zayn with an epic eye roll that only someone with a lot of practice could ever manage.

“So I don’t remember, what did you say your name was?” 

“Z-z-zayn,” he stutters back, not bothering to point out that she hadn’t yet given him the opportunity to do so.

“Well Z-z-zayn,” she mocks lightly, “I am so glad we had this chat.”

_More like soliloquy,_ Zayn thinks to himself.But he wouldn’t dare say it out loud.Luckily, at that moment the lights dim and the opening auction scene begins, cutting off whatever else she is about to rattle on about. 

 

* * *

 

The show is fantastic of course.Norm Lewis is so refreshing as the Phantom.Dark and mysterious, he is perfect for the role.Though not his favorite, Jeremy Hays also turns in a solid performance as Raoul.But of course, the real star is Mary Michael Patterson.She is absolutely stunning.While maybe not quite reaching the sheer, unparalleled apotheosis of Sierra Boggess, she holds her own and turns in a brilliant performance by all accounts. 

As soon as the final scene fades to black Vi is on her feet cheering like she’s at a football game a good five seconds before anyone else, earning a reproving glare from her more respectable neighbor and more than a few startled looks from other patrons.But true to what Zayn had learned of her so far, she doesn’t seem to care what anyone else thinks of her.It’s a little admiral to be honest.He wishes he had that kind of self-confidence sometimes.

As the cast returns to the stage for final bows, Vi’s tireless energy just seems to build with each successive actor’s bow.When Mary comes back out, she goes _nuts._ She actually jumps up on her chair, which does not seem wise in those wicked stilettos, sticks her fingers in her mouth, and looses one of those shrill whistles that everyone simultaneously hates and wishes they could do at the same time.She quite literally screams out a _bravissima_ and then redoubles the whistling. Zayn stands beside her clapping politely with the rest of civilized society, trying his best to look like he’s not associated with her.

 

* * *

 

In the time it takes them to make it back outside, Vi has already said more than Zayn usually does in an entire day.  It’s a little tiring to be honest, trying to keep up with her.

“That was amazing!” she squeals.“Wasn’t that amazing?I mean, it wasn’t Ramin-Karimloo-and-Sierra-Boggess amazing.But it was amazing.Gah!Did I mention this was my seventh time seeing this?Probably the second best I’ve seen, though it’s so hard to judge.We have got to do this again sometime!”

Zayn is subtly trying to find the opportunity to slip away from her.He really is ready for a break.  

“Well…it was…nice meeting you,” he says warily, giving her a little half wave thing and nonchalantly taking a few steps in the opposite direction she is heading.Vi apparently has other plans though.

“Oh no you don’t!” she snaps, marching after him far faster than should have been possible in those heels.She flashes him a wicked grin that Zayn’s already associated with her getting her way.“We are going to go grab drinks, mister.”

“Wh-what?” Zayn stutters out as she grabs his hand and starts to yank him back in the other direction.He tries to dig his heels into the sidewalk but she’s surprisingly strong.“I’m n-not…Are _you_ even twenty-one yet?” he manages to get out as he stumbles along behind her.  

“Please, please, please tell me you aren’t _actually_ that lame and you’re just pretending?” Vi implores.When Zayn doesn’t respond, she rolls her eyes melodramatically and somehow starts walking even faster.“This is New York City, Mr. Puritan.It’s all about who you know.” 

 

* * *

 

Vi had proceeded to drag a reluctant Zayn onto a bus and all the way over to the West Village, where they are now standing outside a pastel yellow building on 7th Street.The front facade is taken up by a row of six archways, each with a set of white French doors.Neon lights outline the arches and spell out “Duplex” over their heads.  

“Welcome to the greatest place in New York City,” Vi announces, hooking her arm through his and leading him up to the door.Before she opens it, she turns and studies Zayn for moment, eyes running critically up and down his body.She chews on her lip thoughtfully for a moment and then reaches up and tugs on the knot of his tie until the loop is now hanging loosely around his neck.Then she deftly unhooks his top three buttons before he can swat her away.The flaps of his shirt fall open, allowing the top edge of his tat to peak out.  

Vi gasps theatrically.“You have tattoos?” she squeals excitedly.Zayn flushes and tries to re-button his shirt but she whacks his hands away.“This is perfect,” she gushes.She takes a step back and examines him closely one last time.Then grabs his arms, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing his sleeve of tats on his right arm.“Oh. My. God.” she hisses.“Who _are_ you?”  

“Uhhhh…Zayn Malik?,” Zayn replies dumbly.  

Vi just giggles, artistically musses up his hair, and slips her arm back into his, letting him reluctantly open the door for her.

Zayn almost turns and runs straight back out the door.  

“What is this place?” he wonders aloud, scarcely able to take it all in.  

“This, Zayn Malik, is The Duplex,” Vi responds happily.  

The place is an absolute madhouse.The walls are painted a garish green.A huge bar takes up one side of the room, with what looks like any type of drink you could possibly want.There are people _everywhere._ A black guy is banging away at a baby grand in the back corner while a trio of waitresses in gaudy outfits belt out an impressive arrangement of Lady GaGa’s _Born This Way_ while they clear tables and serve drinks.Even as his chest tightens with anxiety, he can’t help but smile widely.This place is like musical paradise.It’s _perfect._

“Come on!” Vi yells over the music.She leads him through the crowd of people up to the bar.

“Hey bitch!” she shouts at the bartender with his back turned towards them.  He whips around, maybe a little flamboyantly.  Just a little.  

“Who you calling bitch, bitch?” he yells back, grinning.He is a thin guy, probably in his mid-twenties.He has a formidable wave of bleach blonde and pink hair on top of his head.His pale skin shimmers as if he bathes in glitter and he has more eyeliner on than Vi.“Isn’t it past your bedtime, Vivian?” he taunts.  

“Don’t make me come over top of this bar again, Jonah,” she warns dangerously.“Do you really want a repeat of the Beer Pitcher Incident?”  

He just laughs warmly at her.Then he catches sight of Zayn.His grin grows even wider as his eyes drag lasciviously down his body, making Zayn blush deeply and shrink into himself.“And who exactly is this?” the bartender purrs playfully.  

“ _This_ is Zayn Malik,” she laughs with a wink.“He’s starting with the Symphony this year.This is his first time in a bar,” she stage-whispers conspiratorially.  

Zayn’s face burns even hotter as they both laugh at him, even though he knows they aren’t being malicious.  

“Well then,” Jonah replies.“We’ll just have to whip you up an extra-large AMF to celebrate the occasion.”

“OMG Yes!” Vi squeals.  

“A wh-what?” Zayn stutters, but they both cheerfully ignore him.  

Jonah expertly mixes one thing after another into whatever he’s cooking up, his every move tinged with a flare of showmanship.Finally he’s pouring a bright, neon blue concoction into a giant fishbowl glass and setting it down in front of a baffled Zayn.  

“This, my newfound friend, is an Adios Motherfucker.On the house,” he announces brightly.Zayn stares at the loud drink dubiously.He’s had glasses of wine at family functions, but he’s certainly never tried anything like this.  

“Well go on!” Vi laughs.When Zayn doesn’t budge, she rolls her eyes, grabs the glass, and takes a giant gulp.“Mmmmmmm…” she sighs.“You’re the best, Jonah.”

“I try.”

Vi pushes the oversized glass into Zayn’s hands.  “Come on you goofball,” she teases.

Zayn stares down into the blue depths and cautiously raises the glass to his lips, taking a tiny sip.  He starts choking almost immediately as the liquid burns all the way down his throat.  Vi and Jonah both crack up laughing at him.  Defiant, Zayn takes another bigger drink and forces it down, not able to mask his cringe.  It’s extremely sweet and not exactly bad, but it’s far stronger than anything he’s had before.  It’s like drinking liquid fire.  

“Alright champ,” Vi giggles.“Let’s find a table.”  

As soon as they turn away from the bar, she freezes.“Oh _hell to the naw!”_ she cries in a freakishly good imitation of a black woman.Zayn follows her gaze to the barbie-ish looking girl that has just walked into the bar.Her bleached hair flows past her waist in luxurious curls.Her face is caked with makeup and she’s dressed in a flashy pink tank top and miniskirt.Two similar girls are standing a step behind her.  

“What’s up babe?” Jonah questions.

“It’s Valerie Holloway and her cronies,” Vi growls.“She’s a piccolo.And thinks she runs the world.I can’t believe she’s found this place.”

“Well isn’t this a surprise.Who let you out of your cage, Vivian?”the blonde jeers.  

“Fuck off! _”_ Vi shouts back at her, blushing furiously.Then she slips her arm around Zayn again, smirking as the girls’ eyes widen comically when they notice him. 

Suddenly Jonah is on their side of the bar.“I’ll take care of this plastic little spastic,” he whispers to them.Then he walks up to the invaders.

“Can I see some IDs, ladies?” he inquires officially.  

Valerie gives him a blank, astonished stare.“You’re joking, right?” she asks haughtily.  

“Identification please,” he repeats.  

The girls huffily dig driver’s licenses out of their purses and practically throw them at Jonah.He examines each of them in turn and hands them back.

“Sorry, ladies, but you have to be 21 to be in here.I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Yeah right,” Valerie scoffs.“Very funny.”

“It’s time for you to go,” Jonah warns, his voice low.

“Fuck off, fag,” the blonde snaps as they try to push past him.  

Jonah whistles loudly and yells across the room, “Yo, Travis!” 

Travis happens to be a massive black brute dressed in a pinstripe suit like some mafia bigwig, with long dreads cascading down his back, a pair of large black shades, and a kingly collection of gold chains around his neck.He wades through the sea of people, the crowd parting around him like he’s Moses or something.  

“What’s happenin’?” he asks in a deep bass rumble.  

“We have some minors who refuse to leave,” Jonah indicates the three divas, who are watching Travis nervously.  

“Alright, let’s go ladies,” he growls, pushing them towards the door.

“Wait!” Valerie shrieks.“You can’t do this!Do you have any idea who my father is?He is going to have your job, you fucking ingrate!And what about them?They aren’t old enough either.”

But nobody is paying her any attention.Travis simply shoves them out the door and then stands in front of it with his massive arms crossed, ensuring that they don’t try to sneak back in.  

“Well that should keep them away,” Jonah chuckles.

“See?It’s all about who you know,” Vi quips with a wink. “There!” she cries out suddenly, pointing out a table whose occupants are getting up.She rushes over with Zayn in tow.He blushes as the girls who are leaving ogle him, giggling.  

“Wh-why do people keep looking at me like I’m a piece of meat?” he asks Vi nervously as they sit down.He subconsciously takes another gulp of his AMF, just to have something to do.He barely even notices the burn anymore.  

“Seriously?”Vi asks, eyebrows raised skeptically.  

“What?” he snaps back, fidgeting self-consciously.  

She lets out an amused little chuckle.  “Has no one ever told you how extraordinarily fucking gorgeous you are?  You cannot be that oblivious.” 

Zayn blushes hard at that, looking down into his lap shyly.Vi blinks in astonishment.

“Oh my god.You seriously have no idea?”

“Stop!” Zayn urges. “You’re crazy.”

“Oh really?” she teases.“Well then you better not look behind you.Because that table of hot girls over there must all be nut jobs too.”

Zayn cautiously looks over his shoulder and immediately regrets it, as there really are about half a dozen giggling girls staring directly at him.  

“Not to mention those cougars over there,” she continues, pointing into a back corner where a few middle-aged women raise their wine glasses up to him when he glances over.  

“And that guy at the bar.”Zayn nearly chokes on his drink when he sees the attractive stranger leering at him.His face is burning furiously now.He guzzles down half his drink in one go, desperate for something to calm his nerves.  

“Face it,” she laughs, stealing another drink.“You are a grade A, regulation hottie.Especially with those glasses.You look like a mysterious, tortured genius.Like someone mixed a mad scientist with Batman or something.”

“God, stop it!” he pleads, sinking down into his seat and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.  

“You are one rare individual, Zayn Malik,” she muses, chin resting in her hand.“I have never met a guy who was so acutely unaware of his own attractiveness.” 

Jonah collapses into the seat opposite them sipping on a blood red martini.  

“Finally got a break,” he sighs.“What’s up?” 

“I was just trying to convince Zayn of his inherent hotness,” Vi replies, much to Zayn’s abject horror.“It’s not going so well.”

“Oh honey,” Jonah exclaims flamboyantly, while laying a hand on his arm and making him jump.“You are by far the sexiest guy in this joint.If you weren’t so young I would take you home and ride you so hard you would…”he tapers off when he sees Zayn’s look of alarm.He chuckles sympathetically.“You’ll realize someday how much of a catch you are,” he assures him.“And then you’ll make someone incredibly lucky.”He winks at the boy who is glowing red hot and yet still trying to disappear on the spot.  

Zayn, already feeling light-headed and a little rebellious, drains the last of his drink in one chug.Vi and Jonah cheer him on, laughing when he spills a good portion of it down his front.  

“Can I have another?” he asks shyly, liking the way it dampens his anxiety.

“Not tonight, Tiger,” Jonah replies kindly.  “That’s gonna hit you soon and you’re gonna be glad you didn’t.  Not to mention tomorrow morning.”  

Zayn doesn’t quite understand but he doesn’t really care.  He feels warm and tingly all over and he finds that he’s starting to enjoy the wild energy of the place.  

“Oh!” Jonah gasps.“I forgot to tell you Vi!Guess who’s performing tonight?”

“Who?” she asks excitedly.But Jonah’s eyes have gone unfocused as he stares over her shoulder.  

“Speak of the devil.Yo, J-Squared!” he calls out.  

Vi whips around in her seat before shrieking, “Jeremy!”

They are both gone in a flash.Not wanting to be left alone, Zayn jumps up after them, nearly toppling over when his head realizes how much alcohol he’s siphoned down.He stumbles after them as quickly as his uncoordinated feet can manage.Vi is hugging a brown-haired boy when he catches up to them.When she releases him and he gets a good look at the guy, he stops dead in his tracks, grabbing onto to Vi to keep from falling.She giggles and struggles to hold him upright.  

Zayn can only stare dumbfounded at the vision in front of him.He thinks maybe he’s drunk too much and is hallucinating.He probably looks like a fish with how his mouth is opening and closing. 

“J…J…Jer-…J-J-J-,” he stutters nervously.  

The guy reaches a hand out, smiling amiably.“Hey man!Jeremy Jordan.Nice to meet you.”

Zayn stares at his hand for a solid five seconds, in which the new guy’s eyebrows shoot up and Vi elbows him hard in the ribs.Zayn shakes himself out of his trance and shakily takes the proffered hand.  

“Z-zayn,” he replies, barely audible over the noise.He forgets the part of a handshake where he’s supposed to let go.  

“I’m sorry!” Vi intervenes, a little exasperated as she physically pries Zayn’s hand away from the other boy’s.“My friend here is partaking in his first night of drinking.”

“Ahhhh…Well you’re holding up better than I did my first time,” he sympathizes with a knowing wink.Zayn nearly faints on the spot.  

This is Jeremy Jordan.THE Jeremy Jordan.Broadway’s darling.Star of _Newsies_ and _Bonnie & Clyde._The guy who sang alongside Dolly Parton and Queen Latifah in the fabulously terrible _Joyful Noise._ One of the leads from the ill-fated TV show _Smash._ Soon to star opposite Anna Kendrick in the movie adaptation of Jason Robert Brown’s cult-classic _The Last Five Years._ Not to mention, he’s arguably the best male singer of this generation.If not of all time _._ And he’s here.In the same bar as Zayn.Looking at him.Talking to him.Shaking his hand!

“Ladies and gentleman!Can I have your attention?”the piano man announces into the microphone.  

“Oops.Gotta run!” Jeremy says, clapping Zayn on the shoulder before hurrying through the crowd up to the stage.The room erupts into cheers as more and more people catch sight of him.  

“It is my pleasure to present to you tonight,” the piano man continues.“Mister.Jeremy.JORDAN!”  

The crowd goes nuts as the young actor takes the mic, and Zayn can’t help but be swept up in the infectious enthusiasm.  

“Thank you Billy!” Jeremy croons.“How’re y’all doin’ tonight?” he asks, evoking another round of cheers.“I’m Jeremy Jordan,” he announces, the corner of his mouth curling up in this adorable little half-smile that has Zayn swooning.“Most of you probably have no idea who I am, do you?” he asks, earning a burst of laughter.  

“Well anyway, if you really don’t know, I was on a TV show called _SMASH,”_ he continues to another round of cheering.“And I was a season regular on season two.And I remember when I got my very first script for the first episode for the second season, and I’m sitting in bed reading it, and I’m scrolling through the first few pages and flipping through and, ok, wrapping up season one, blah, blah, blah. Wheres me?Wheres me?Wheres me?There you go! Page fifteen.Jimmy Collins!And I was so excited I got a scene with Katherine McPhee.I was, like, being charming and coy and awesome and kinda badass at the same time.Ok scenes over. Flip, flip, flip, flip.Geez!Come on!.Ahhh!And I’m startin’ to get to the end and I’m like ‘What the hell? Guys! I thought I was, like, going to be a big character.This sucks.’ So finally I get to like the last few pages and I turn and ok, there I am again.Ok, so they’re gonna finish out the episode with me.It’s gonna be like some crazy cliffhanger or something.And I look at the last page, and it’s just…it’s just lyrics.I’m like, ok, so they’re gonna end it with a song. Naturally, it’s a musical television show.And I look at the top of the lyrics, and it says ‘Jimmy’.A-And I-I-I realized in that moment that I was gonna get to sing the _closing song_ of my very first television episode ever.And it was the coolest, coolest experience… _ever._ Um…so I’m gonna sing it for you.It’s called _Broadway, Here I Come.”_

Louder cheers yet erupt from the crowd.Billy starts up the song on the piano.The performance is amazing of course.Zayn joins in with the wild cheering as Jeremy hits the insanely high note towards the end.His voice is like sin and sex and chocolate all rolled into one.Not many artists can sound even better live than on their recordings.  

The rest of the show is just as incredible.He covers _Moving Too Fast_ from his upcoming role in _The Last Five Years, Caught in the Storm_ also from _SMASH, Somewhere Over the Rainbow, Losing My Mind_ from _Follies,_ andeven a goofball rendition of _Let It Go_ from Disney’s _Frozen._ One of the waitresses joins him for two more songs from _SMASH._ And finally he ends the show with _Santa Fe,_ his showstopping number from _Newsies._ Zayn is a little breathless as he whoops and yells with the rest of the ecstatic crowd.  

 

* * *

 

Zayn finds himself grinning like a lunatic for much of the rest of the night as they chat with Jeremy.He finds that the alcohol has loosened his tongue considerably and he joins in the conversations more than he normally would, for which Vi seems to be happy about.Jeremy convinces them to all take shots at the bar.He orders up a line of what he calls “Blowjob Shots”, which makes Zayn blush ridiculously.The shots are a mix of Kahlua and Bailey’s, topped with giant dollops of whipped cream.Jeremy counts down from three and they down them all at once.Zayn has to admit that the shot is delicious even though he gets whipped cream all over his face.He hurriedly tries to wipe it all off as the others laugh at him.  

Soon after, Jeremy has to head out so he can get up early for filming the next day, so they all decide to call it a night.Zayn is still a little unsteady on his feet, so Vi attempts to keep him upright as they walk to the subway.He accompanies her back to her own residence hall and then promises he’ll be fine to make it back to Founders.  

It’s not too terribly far, so he decides to just walk the whole way instead of catching the subway.The night air is cool and refreshing and he sighs as he just takes in the altogether different feel of the city at night.That same frenetic energy is still there, pulsing under the surface, but it seems calmer almost.He thinks about all of the experiences he had had that day and he realizes that this could quite possibly qualify as the best day of his life.  

He may have even made a friend, as unbelievable as that is.He had grown to enjoy Vi’s quirky presence over the course of the night and thinks that maybe this year won’t be so bad after all.  

He takes a deep breath and just spreads his arms wide.The city is at his fingertips and he’s never felt so much like part of something bigger than himself.For once in his life, he feels powerful.Like he can do anything.Like he’s a king.

 

* * *

 

Zayn is almost asleep on his feet as he pushes into his room at last.And then the fairytale comes crashing down.

“Where have you been?” Liam asks flippantly, appraising Zayn’s tastefully disheveled appearance with an unreadable expression.  

“Out,” Zayn snaps, suddenly irritated for no legitimate reason.His inhibitions must be farther gone than he realized because he starts undressing right there in the room, his usual self-consciousness forgotten.First he kicks his shoes off and then yanks off the dress socks, leaving them wadded up on the floor.Then he tosses his vest into the corner, soon followed by his tie.He untucks his shirt and slowly fumbles with the remaining buttons.He is too groggy and light-headed to notice how Liam’s eyes follow his hands, lingering a little too long on the exposed flesh.He slips the shirt off of his shoulders and lets it drop at his feet.  

“What’s with all the ink?” Liam scoffs, discretely tracing the lines of each design.  

“Do you _have_ to be talking right now?” Zayn demands softly, cringing at the wave of nausea washing over him.  His feet betray him and he has to catch himself on his wardrobe.  

Liam’s eyes narrow suspiciously.  “Are you drunk?” he half-laughs.

“Fuck off!” Zayn snaps as he drops his slacks, leaving himself in only a form-fitting pair of black briefs.  

“Whatever,” Liam mutters, definitely NOT checking out the bulge in Zayn’s underwear.  

Zayn collapses on his bed with a pained grunt, tugging the blankets over top of himself and almost instantly drifting off to sleep.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought! :D
> 
> Note: In case you’re a classical music freak like me, then I thought I would let you know that I’ve imagined Zayn’s playing style and energy based upon the Moldovian violinist Patricia Kopatchinskaja. She is just so unique and fresh. With every performance, she not only brings an interpretation that is outside of the box, she basically destroys the box itself. Her playing is so frenetic and savage, unlike any other performer I’ve seen. And yet her passion, too, is almost unparalleled. She has been called the “most exciting violinist in the world” and I certainly agree whole-heartedly. I think projecting this onto Zayn really contrasts nicely with the rest of his character. It gives him an outlet to let fly all that anxiety and angst he bottles up.
> 
> Also for the Broadway nuts out there who aren't already aware, each of the songs Jeremy Jordan performed here can be found on YouTube.


	4. Kiss the Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I owe all of you the most profound of apologies for taking so long to update this. Vet school is quite literally destroying my life but I will do my best to be slightly more proliferative this semester. I can't make any promises though :( 
> 
> To make up for it, here is a particularly long chapter. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Also a very important PSA relevant to last chapter: There is a recent upload to Youtube of Jeremy Jordan performing Celine Dion's "It's All Coming Back to Me Now" which is LIFE ITSELF. Do yourself a favor and check it out XD
> 
> Alright that's all for now. Read and Review!

**Chapter 3: Kiss the Girl**

 

* * *

 

Zayn’s brain is screaming at him.Why did he have to wake up?He rolls over and instantly regrets it as an angry porcupine starts thrashing around in his skull.His skin aches.His tongue feels like sandpaper.And clearly something unholy died in his mouth.He cracks one eye open and hisses at the bright sunlight streaming through the window.

_Who the fuck opened the curtains?_

Then he notices the small, rhythmic grunts and gusting breaths filling the room.For one terrifying second he thinks maybe Liam is jacking off.He doesn’t even want to contemplate why, of all plausible explanations, he immediately jumps to _that_ conclusion.He cranes his neck and lets outa sigh of relief when he sees his roommate on the floor in his boxers and a white tank top powering through rapid push-ups. He groans loudly and burrows back under the blankets. 

“Morning…sunshine,” Liam pants, apparently quite amused.  

“Fnnngg…”

“What…was that…Zany?”

Zayn angrily throws the blanket back again, glaring daggers and trying not to notice how Liam’s arms are bulging.“Why are you up?” he hisses, cringing as the effort about gives him an aneurysm.“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” he moans, collapsing back down onto his stomach.“And _don’t_ call me Zany.” 

“Oh how the…tables have…turned,” Liam laughs, not even remotely slowing down.“By the way…it’s almost…noon.”  

“What?” Zayn snaps, stretching to see his alarm clock.He groans when the digital display confirms it.When he turns back, Liam has flipped over and is now doing sit-ups.Zayn becomes distracted by the thin sliver of tanned skin that is flashed every time the hem of his tank top rides up.Seconds later he slightly panics when he realizes he has a boner pressed into the mattress.  

_It’s okay,_ Zayn reassures himself. _It’s just morning wood.My jackass roommate did NOT give me a hard-on.No matter how hot he is.It’s just not possible._

He buries his face in his pillow, half wanting to smother himself to end the misery of it all.He recites all the integrals he memorized for his calculus AP over and over until the traitorous organ has deflated somewhat.He would be content to lay there for the next five years if his bladder wasn’t screaming at him for attention even louder than his head by this point.He reluctantly drags himself out from under the sheets and up onto his unsteady feet.  

And he immediately turns red as a tomato when he realizes he’s still almost naked.Memories of stripping in front of Liam surface, mortifying him even further.  

“You…should probably…take care of that,” Liam pants, pausing to grin up at Zayn maliciously.

Zayn is confused until he notices that Liam’s gaze is directed south of his face.He looks down in horror to find that his little friend quite obviously still wants to play.  

He literally wants to die on the spot.  

Stroke. 

Shark attack.  

Nuclear missile strike.  

Anything to rescue him from this wretched existence.  

He frantically grabs his towel off the hook and shields his body with it as he hunts for his shower case.Meanwhile Liam has collapsed onto his back laughing hysterically. Trying his best to ignore him, Zayn collects a clean set of clothes and marches straight out the door, praying he doesn’t run into anyone else along the way.

……

After relieving himself, the first thing Zayn does is inspect himself in the bathroom mirror.His eyes are bloodshot and baggy, his cheeks are puffy, and he just generally looks like a wreck.He splashes his face with cold water, downs three extra-strength ibuprofen, and then proceeds to scour every square millimeter of his mouth with his toothbrush.  

Finally he takes a swig of mouthwash and gargles it vigorously as he heads into one of the shower stalls.He turns the tap on and cranks up the heat.Then he strips off his briefs, steps under the steamy spray, and spits down the drain at his feet.He sighs as the hot water slowly relaxes away the tension in his muscles.  

He lathers up his hair and then rinses it out before stepping out from under the shower.He squirts out a copious amount of body wash and begins soaping up his chest and arms.He massages away the remaining aches and stiffness, hands running over his smooth skin and tracing the dark splashes of ink stretching over his body. 

Eventually, almost subconsciously, his hand finds its way down to his so-far neglected member, thin fingers casually wrapping around the soft flesh as it eagerly reinflates in his grasp.Zayn lets out a sigh as he leans against the wall of the shower and slowly drags his palm down the hard, yet silky length.He grabs the body wash to lube himself up better and starts up a quick, rhythmic pumping, unable to stop the soft moans from escaping.It has been almost two weeks since he’s taken care of himself, and he can sense the impending eruption already.  

Unbidden visions of tanned flesh suddenly creep into his mind.The sharp ridges of perfect collarbones.Dark, perky nipples just waiting to be licked.The hills and valleys of meticulously cultivated abdominal muscles.The seductive trail of dark hair leading to untold wonders below.Then the flash of a familiarly arrogant smirk.Wonderfully mussed-up sex hair.Brown eyes dark with lust.  

Just before the daydream sends him into orgasm, Zayn comes to his senses and immediately jerks his hand away from his dick as if he had been burned.The desperate organ spasms helplessly, reaching for that absent stimulation it needs.  

Zayn pants harshly, leaning more heavily against the wall.He can scarcely believe that just happened.Irritation with himself wells up, until his vision goes red and he lets out a ferocious cry and slams his fist into the wall of the shower.He stares in surprise at the blood trickling down from his split knuckles.A few seconds later and he winces as the throbbing sets in.Luckily it’s his bowing hand, so hopefully it won’t affect his music as much.  

“Dude, you alright in there?” an unfamiliar voice inquires with clear concern.Zayn is too ashamed to respond so he just keeps his mouth shut and steps back under the water to finish rinsing off.  

A few short minutes later and he has toweled off and is pulling on a pair of skinny jeans and a snug tee shirt.He heads out of the stall hoping for an uneventful trip back to his room, but he freezes when he sees a figure standing by the sink, staring at him with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.The guy has a slight build and an impressive tangle of blonde hair on his head.He quickly spits and then grins at Zayn.

“You doin’ ok pal?” he asks, grin spreading impossibly wider when Zayn blushes hard, realizing the voice from earlier came from this boy.Meaning he had heard his little outburst. 

His face has a boyish quality about it that can only be described as adorable.Zayn finds his lips twitching upwards of their own accord, infected by the boy’s unbridled cheerfulness.He shakes his head to clear his mind.

“I’m fine,” he grunts, tone maybe a little too surly.

The blonde blinks a couple times, but is otherwise unfazed.Zayn makes a beeline for the door.

“I’m Niall,” the boy continues, halting Zayn in his tracks.  

Zayn turns back towards him, unconsciously raising his shower bag like some sort of shield.The boy’s eyes drift down to Zayn’s bruised hand.

“You know, you really shouldn’t pick fights with walls.They tend not to be too impressed,” he laughs, winking at Zayn cheekily.  

Zayn is blushing again and can’t come up with a response so opts to keep his mouth shut as usual.He sets his jaw and turns on his heel again, this time marching directly out without looking back.He knows it’s a little rude, but he doesn’t have the patience to deal with people right now.Unfortunately the blonde follows him out into the hallway and falls into step beside him.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” he asks again.

_Because I didn’t tell you,_ Zayn sighs in his head, flashing back to the similar conversation with Vi last night.

“Zayn,” he forces out in a clipped tone.  

“So Zayn,” he continues, as chipper as ever and completely oblivious to Zayn’s discomfort.“Why _are_ you punching walls?It’s really not good for your health, you know?”

Right at that moment, they arrive at Zayn’s door just as Liam is pulling it open.Liam freezes, eyes jumping back and forth between the two of them.  

“Oh…” Niall exclaims, seeming a little perturbed for once.“Hello Liam,” he says stiffly. 

“Excited for the first soccer game, _Niall?_ ” Liam spits out.“Oh wait!You didn’t make first string.”

Niall growls deep in his throat.He turns to Zayn, “You live with this creep?” 

Zayn nods slowly with a sudden change of heart .He could have hugged Niall in that moment .It’s so nice to have someone in his corner for once.  

“Now I see why you’re hitting things,” he sympathizes.  

Liam gapes at that, eyes jumping down to Zayn’s black and blue hand before widening considerably.Zayn reddens and pushes roughly past his speechless roomie.Surprisingly, Niall follows him in glaring at Liam.He quickly makes himself at home, plopping down on Zayn’s bed when he realizes which side of the room is his.  

“You two know each other?” Liam demands, storming back in behind them.

“Just met,” Niall quips brightly, as if inconveniencing Liam is the best part of his day.“Weren’t you just leaving?” 

“This is _my_ room,” Liam fires back.  

“I can tell,” Niall counters, his lip curled at all the dirty clothes and soccer gear thrown everywhere.

Zayn can’t suppress his grin.He is liking this kid more and more.

They both stare at Liam with raised eyebrows until he whips around and stalks back out in a huff.Niall giggles brightly.

“God!What did you do in a past life to deserve _that_ as a roommate?” he asks Zayn.  

Zayn is about to answer as he turns toward his bed but he comes up short at the sight.The cute blonde is lounging on his bed with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his pillow propped behind his head.

“You don't have many boundaries, do you?”Zayn asks him.Normally he would be annoyed in a situation like this, but he can’t bring himself to be anything but amused at the strange boy.  

“What are those?” Niall asks, eyes glittering playfully.  

Zayn actually laughs at that and collapses down on the bed beside him, flinching slightly when Niall leans into him.  

“You shouldn’t let him get to you like that.He’s totes not worth it.”

“Yeah I guess not.”

The blonde nudges him with an elbow.Zayn looks over at him.The boy really is exceptionally cute.His skin is palish but not sickly.He’s not so much thin as unusually lean.His arms are slender but tightly muscled.His eyes are crystalline blue and Zayn can definitely see how easy it could be to get lost in them.The formidable wave of hair swooping over his brow somehow works well for him.His blinding smile and adorable dimples add the perfect finishing touch to his beautiful visage.  

_Maybe this is what I need,_ Zayn thinks to himself. _A different attractive boy to take my mind off of my jerkwad roommate.Of course, I don’t even know if this kid could possibly be gay.That would be too perfect…_

“You’re staring,” Niall informs him politely.  

Zayn jumps, his daydream broken.  

“Sorry!” he rushes to apologize, lowering his eyes sheepishly.“I’m not used to talking to new people.”

_“_ Yeah I’ve picked up on that,” Niall laughs, nudging him again.“We can fix that though.” 

But then he catches sight of the clock on the wall.“Shit!I’m late,” he cries out, disentangling himself from the blankets and jumping up on his feet.“Sorry I gotta bail.My boyfriend wants to do lunch today.”

_Well fuck…._ Zayn curses in his head.He knew it was too good to be true.

“See ya ‘round, Zayn,” he calls over his shoulder as he hurries out the door.

“Yeah…see ya,” Zayn whispers to himself after Niall is already gone, angry with himself for even daring to hope.  

………….

Zayn would have been content to spend the rest of the day in peaceful solitude, but of course that was not to be.Once he discovers his phone under his bed, he finds a veritable legion of missed messages.Wondering who could possibly be texting him, he checks the user ID:‘Vi’ surrounded by lots of smilies and hearts.  

He doesn’t remember ever giving her his number and he certainly would never have entered her name in like that so he assumes she must have hijacked it at some point last night.

**Vi:** **Rise and Shine!!! ;)**

**V: Hello?!?!?!?!**

**V: Zayn????**

**V: Get yo ass up!**

**V: ZAYN.**

**V: PLEASE tell me you didn’t get mugged/raped/murdered last night…..**

**V: !@#$%^ &*?????**

There were also about a dozen missed calls.

Zayn grins to himself and taps out a response.

**Zayn: Sorry!I couldn’t find my phone XD**

**V: THANK YOU JESUS!** she responds almost immediately. **You are NOT allowed to die on me already.**

**V: Anyway.I mentioned it last night, but I’m sure you don’t remember.There’s a music department party tonight, and you absolutely have to go.I’m meeting you at your place at 8.Be ready :D**

A party is basically the last thing on the list of things Zayn feels like doing tonight.Or ever really.He contemplates trying to argue with her, but he decides it would probably be useless anyway.So he just shoots her a quick affirmative and then looks around, trying to think of something to do until then.Eventually he grabs his violin and polishes up his audition music for the next day.

……….

The party, surprisingly, is at one of the trumpet’s parents’ house.Zayn’s not sure how he ever got permission, or if he even did.Regardless, the place was now overrun with over a hundred wired band geeks.  

The house is huge.Nestled into a small grove of trees out in the suburbs, it’s a four-story, timber-and-stone behemoth.This kid’s family must be loaded.

Vi has managed to squeeze herself into a tiny purple miniskirt.She’s decked out with a dozen dangly silver necklaces and bracelets and completes the ensemble with a black leather jacket and stilettos.Tonight she’s wearing her hair loose, a sleek, glossy cascade down to her shoulders.She is still rocking her freaky violet contacts which Zayn doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. 

Zayn has gone with his usual jeans and a red, long-sleeve Henley.When she arrived at his dorm, Vi had eyed him critically and informed him they were going shopping ASAP to spice up his wardrobe.  

How thrilling.

Bass is pounding from somewhere, rattling the windows of the house as Vi drags Zayn up the front sidewalk.She rings the doorbell, but when no one answers she knocks loudly on the wooden door.When the door still remains closed after several seconds, she bangs even harder.Finally she whales on it like a pint-sized boxing champ.  

“Whoa there, Rocky,” Zayn chuckles.  

The next second the door is opening and a stocky guy with curly brown hair and a scruffy face appears.  

“I should have known it was you laying siege to my front door, Vi,” he bellows with a huge grin on his face.  

“Nice to see you too, Nick,” she chimes back pleasantly.  

Nick’s eyes wander over to Zayn, who is standing awkwardly like always.  

“And you must be Zayn,”he asserts, his voice a rich, warm baritone.“Welcome to the family.”

He extends a hand and shakes Zayn’s firmly.

“Please, please!” he exclaims.“Come into my humble abode.”  

He stands aside as Vi and Zayn slip past him into the mansion.He leads them down a long hallway adorned with dozens of family photos along the walls.They pass a large study filled with leather armchairs and mahogany bookshelves loaded with musty old tomes.One wall is dominated by a stone fireplace that you could have parked a car in.Zayn’s jaw drops when they enter a vast, minimalist kitchen of granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances.  

“The party is out back,” Nick informs them a little unnecessarily as flashing strobe lights and deafening dance music flood through the open veranda doors.“I’m trying to spare as much of my mom’s precious house as possible,” he laughs.“I have three days to clean everything up before they get back, but you never know what kind of trouble all these vagabonds can get into.”  

They head outside onto a large concrete patio.Drinks and snacks tables line one railing and a half dozen picnic tables are scattered over the rest where people are chilling.A long flight of stone steps lead down the hillside to a flat clearing in the trees.The clearing is dominated by a massive in-ground pool full of screaming, splashing college kids.The whole area is lit up by multicolored party lights that are strewn through all the trees.  

“NICK!” Vi gasps.“You didn’t tell me you had a pool!We didn’t bring any swimsuits!”She whacks him repeatedly with her large black clutch.  

“Ow! Ow! OW!” he shouts as he tries in vain to fend her off with his burly arms.“I’m sorry!I thought I mentioned it!”

She lets out a perturbed growl as she straightens out her clothes.  

“God, you are a menace,” Nick jokes, but he quickly raises his palms placatingly when her eyes flash dangerously.“Let me see if my sister has anything for you to wear.And I’m sure I can find an old pair of trunks that will fit you, Zayn.”  

Nick looks relieved that Vi seems mollified for the time being.

“Oh, th-that’s okay,” Zayn stutters, struggling to raise his voice over the music.“I don’t need to…to swim.”  

He knew it was a mistake the second it left his mouth.Vi is shaking him by the shoulders in an instant.  

“What my poor, socially inept, _fun-sucking_ little friend here means is ‘Gee, thanks, Oh great and benevolent Nicholas.That would be absolutely swell!’”  

Nick flashes Zayn a sympathetic look.“I’ll see what I can find.”He runs over to a picnic table and grabs a younger girl that kind of looks like him and whispers in her ear.She looks Vi up and down and they both head back into the house.  

“I CANNOT believe you didn’t want to swim,” she scolds Zayn.“We really need to work on your concept of what is and is not fun.”  

Zayn shrugs sheepishly.  

“Besides,” she continues relentlessly, tugging at the front of his shirt, “I want to see what other ink you’re hiding under there.You absolutely refused to take your shirt off at the bar last night, no matter how drunk we got you,” she teased.  

Zayn is still red when the siblings return.The girl hands Vi a wad of black fabric with white polka dots.  

“Thanks, Jackie,” she replies.

“Come on!You can change in my bathroom,” the girl responds, leading her inside.  

“Here you go man,” Nick shouts over the bass, holding out a pair of black trunks with what looks like red, Chinese dragon patterns all over it.“You can change in my room, if you want.”

Zayn follows him inside, back through the kitchen, around a corner, and up two stories on a curved wooden staircase. 

“You know, you’re allowed to stand up to Vi sometimes,” Nick tells him conspiratorially on the way up.“I know she’s kinda scary but she means well.”

“Yeah, she’s not so bad,” Zayn replies nervously.“Just a little hard to get used to.”

“Ain’t that the truth?Here we are,” he announces, pushing open a heavy wooden door.  

Zayn audibly gasps.The room is about five times the size of his own.A king-sized bed takes up one corner, dressed down with black blankets and pillows.The walls are silver and plastered with posters of various bands and other music related stuff, including a framed portrait of Wynton Marsalis.Directly across from the bed a giant flat screen TV is mounted on the wall with a fully loaded entertainment system below it, complete with Blu-ray, Xbox and a prodigious movie collection.A sliding glass door leads out onto a balcony overlooking the patio and pool.Another door leads into a private bathroom with a jacuzzi-style bathtub.The last free corner is partitioned off by plexiglass walls.The inside is filled with all sorts of hi-tech recording equipment.A Macbook is open on the bench, displaying some complex sound mixing program.Outside the booth, a silver trumpet rests on a stand.  

“Yeah,” Nick mutters self-conciously, rubbing the back of his neck.“My parents are both lawyers…”

“You don’t say,” Zayn chuckles back.“Pretty sweet set-up.”

“Well anyway, think you can find your way back?”  

“Yeah.”

“Alright man, then I’ll leave you to it.I would leave your shoes in here so they don’t get lost.Or soaked.”

He starts to head out and then turns back around.

“And don’t break anything,” he adds, unexpectedly stern all of a sudden.  

Zayn swallows thickly, not able to meet the guy’s steely gaze.“I-I-I…w-won’t…” he stutters nervously.

Nick suddenly busts out laughing.“Dude, I’m totally kidding!” he teases, lightly punching Zayn on the arm.“See you in a few.And dude.Relax.This is a party.You’re allowed to have fun.” 

He shakes his head and shuts the door behind him.Zayn heaves a sigh and kicks his shoes off, setting them by the door.This whole socializing thing is going to give him an ulcer.He strips off his socks, followed by his jeans and finally his underwear, folding them up neatly.He pulls on the shorts, though they’re still a little big so he has to tie the strings pretty tight to hold them up.He debates his next move for a minute and then pulls off his Henley, deciding to leave his white undershirt on for now.It’s not so much that he’s ashamed of his body, he just doesn’t want people staring at him. 

He slowly makes his way back downstairs and out onto the patio.He sees Vi already back, poised confidently in a skimpy bikini with a red solo cup in her hand and chatting with a tall girl with skin the color of dark chocolate and pitch black hair braided with wooden beads down to her lower back.He takes a deep breath and walks over as casually as he can manage.  

The friend catches sight of him before Vi.  

“And who is this tall, dark glass of handsome?” she purrs.  

Zayn immediately flushes and looks away from her predatory gaze.  

“Whoa there!Stand down soldier,” Vi hisses.“It’s hard enough coaxing him out of his cave without you scaring him off again.”  

Vi turns to Zayn.“Zayn. Tegan. Tegan. Zayn.There now everyone knows everyone.Zayn, let’s get you a drink.But go easy this time.I’m sure there’s plenty of people here who would gladly give you CPR, but I really don’t want you drowning at your first party.”

…… 

Five minutes later and Zayn has a crappy beer in his hand as they head down to the pool.Apparently Tegan is a senior and the principal cello in the symphony.She’s also the no-show whose seat he was forced into at _Phantom._

He cringes as he takes another swig of the insipid swill.Luckily he finds a table to surreptitiously ditch his cup on while Vi and Tegan chatter excitedly about whatever the going gossip is.Zayn takes the brief respite to enjoy the view: a couple dozen wet, shirtless guys to ogle, some of them quite attractive.  

Eventually they come to a stop at a bar table.Vi glances over at Zayn, her eyes narrowing when she sees he’s empty-handed.Zayn just grins innocently back at her.  

“I finished it,” he quips brightly.  

She looks even more suspicious but thankfully just smiles and sets her own beverage down.  

“Let’s do this!” she shouts, throwing a fist in the air.A resounding cheer erupts from the pool as nearly everyone calls back to her, waving.Zayn is a little jealous of how they all seem to be happy to see her.How she just seems to effortlessly… _belong._

_“_ Alright Mopey,” she chimes, pointing straight at Zayn and drawing an audience.“Time for you to strip.”

Zayn reddens and backpedals a few steps.“No, r-really.I’m fine,” he assures her, to no avail of course.She just looks more resolved.

“If I have to drag you in kicking and screaming, I will,” she threatens sweetly.“Right after I strip you myself.”

 Zayn’s eyes widen and dart around, searching for an escape route?Someone to save him?He’s too panicked to even know himself.He hesitates too long and Vi takes three determined steps toward him.  

“Okay! Okay!” Zayn cries, raising his hands to ward her away.Then he actually finds himself laughing at how proud of herself she looks.“But only because I want to go in,” he insists, surprised that he honestly means it.  

“Uh huh, sure,” Vi chuckles back.“Well, get a move on.”

Zayn takes a deep breath and wills his hands to stop shaking.He tries to smoothly pull the tee over his head….

…and naturally gets his arms tangled up with the fabric pulled over his eyes.  

He flails pathetically, but only snarls himself up even worse.  

“Hold still!” Vi shouts amidst a fit of giggles as she tries to catch hold of him.She finally manages to wrestle the accursed shirt off of him.His face is burning fiercely as he fidgets and tries in vain not to notice all the people watching him in amusement.He’s always been self-conscious even though he’s never had much reason to be.While he certainly isn’t ripped, he isn’t flabby either.He’s mostly just slender.His stomach is maybe a little softer than he would ideally like but he’s never found the time to work out much.Not that he knew much about _how_ to work out properly anyway. 

Vi is quite literally vibrating on the balls of her feet with barely contained glee.He knows the piercing squeal is coming a split second before it’s penetrating its way into his skull. He winces and stumbles away from her in vain as she rushes forward and begins inspecting all his tats.A series of progressively more unintelligible sounds erupts from her. Finally she spins him around and squeals again when she catches sight of the expansive canvas stretching over the smooth skin.  

“Holy mother of Mozart….” she gasps.“How did you….”  

“Ummmm…I did a lot of work for the neighbors growing up.And I…tutored the artist’s son in math for several years.The back was repayment.”  

Zayn is still trying to avoid everyone’s gaze but he can tell most of them are staring in awe.Suddenly needing to break the tension, he laughs and rubs the back of his neck.

“Can we get in now?” he asks, taking a few steps toward the pool.“So I don’t feel like a zoo exhibit?”

Vi stares for a moment before grinning.“You heard him, folks!” she roars.“Go back to your beeswax and leave him be.”  

She claps Zayn on the back as the others resume their partying, though still stealing furtive glances at him.Suddenly he finds her hands planted dead center on his chest and he’s unexpectedly flying backwards off the ledge and into the cool water.He comes up gasping only to get another faceful of water as Vi cannonballs in after him.

“Was that completely necessary?” he splutters, rubbing chlorine out of his eyes.  

“Of course.”

“Thought so.”  

They’re both grinning now.He splashes her right in the face before diving to the bottom and sweeping her feet out from under her as he swims quickly over to the other side.She’s already charging after him when he resurfaces.With a savage battlecry, she leaps onto his back trying to strangle and dunk him simultaneously.But she’s too small and can’t get enough leverage to knock him off his feet.He laughs and leans forward, using her own weight to flip her over his shoulder and back into the water.  

Zayn suddenly finds himself face-to-face with a disgruntled-looking Nick.He has a broad chest and bulky four-pack, all with a generous amount of dark body hair.Before he can think too hard about it, Vi renews her aquatic offensive.She grabs his head and once again tries in vain to force him under.Zayn swears he sees a scowl flit across Nick’s face this time.The brawny guy pushes his way forward and grabs Vi, lifting her easily up into the air. She shrieks bloody murder and thrashes around but he holds her tight before tossing her high into the air.She wails in delight as she comes crashing back down into the water.Nick is beaming at her as she comes back up giggling.  

_He is totally crushing on Vi,_ Zayn thinks to himself happily. _And he was definitely jealous that we were goofing off together._ He makes a mental note to have a chat with Vi later to see what’s going on there.  

……..

After a brutal chicken tournament and a few hectic rounds of Marco Polo, people begin to be driven out of the pool by the chilly night air and pruned fingers and toes.Zayn spends most of the time skirting around Nick and his icy glances and doing his best not to encourage Vi.  

The party seems to be winding down.Many people have already headed out.The remaining dozen or so are most of the people Vi had been friendliest with over the course of the night, so Zayn gathers that this must be part of her core friend group.Nick suggests that they move inside where it’s warmer.  

And that’s where Zayn’s worst nightmare comes true…

_Party games._

……..

They are about ten minutes into a heated game of Spin the Bottle and Zayn is already cursing his very existence. _Who even plays this game anymore?_ he thinks to himself. _This isn’t freaking middle school._ Of course he is still shirtless to make matters even worse.Vi appears to be gleefully holding his tee shirt hostage, much to both Zayn and Nick’s annoyance.Luckily that vile bottle hasn’t pointed itself in his direction yet.  

He’s not going to lie, it is kind of a fascinating spectacle.Throw a bunch of horny collegiates in various states of intoxication together and give them a reason to make out and you get a veritable menagerie of sloppy face-eating demonstrations.Most incredibly, gender doesn’t seem to be deterring anyone.As there are only a few boys there, multiple pairs of girls have been matched up already.And none of them hesitate to give a good show, earning whooping catcalls from Nick and the other guys.Even Tegan and Vi give quite an aggressive exhibition full of exaggerated groping and tongue warfare.Zayn notes with satisfaction that Nick can’t seem to tear his eyes away from them, his expression somewhat hungry.  

Unfortunately Zayn’s luck doesn’t last forever and it’s soon his turn to spin the bottle.He sucks in a deep breath and whirls the glass rapidly, hoping it defies physics and never stops turning.He almost heaves a sigh of relief when it lands on none other than Vi, despite the death glare radiating from Nick.At least he won’t have to make a fool of himself with a total stranger…

Small victories.

He nervously makes his way forward on his knees into the middle of the circle.Vi meets him halfway, looking way too excited.He feels a little queasy and he’s sure he’s turned five shades of green by now.He tries to steady his shaking while Vi smirks playfully at him.  

“Ready, big boy?” she asks teasingly.  

Zayn is frozen, unable to do anything.He knows he should be the one to initiate the kiss, but he can’t make himself close the distance.He feels like he’s about to have a panic attack.He steadies his breathing as best he can, trying to clear his head.  

_Just kiss the damn girl,_ he scolds himself. _It’s going to be so much worse if you pussy out now…_

He finally pushes forward, knocking into her a little harder than was appropriate.But their lips meet.Zayn freezes again but Vi grabs onto his head and deepens the kiss as a few of the onlookers cheer her on.Her tongue crosses the boundary between them.He feels even more nauseous than before but he is determined to choke it down.Just as he is about to force himself to move his own tongue against hers, she pulls away abruptly.  

Zayn almost cries out in relief but bites it back.Vi is squinting at him with a furrowed brow and her head cocked to the side.She slowly backs up into her seat.Zayn hurries back to his spot.But she is still staring at him curiously, making him antsy. 

A few spins later (thankfully none landing on Zayn) and Vi suddenly stands up.  

“You guys keep going,” she informs the group.“I need to talk to Zayn real quick.”

Zayn starts to panic when she marches around the circle and grabs him by the arm, dragging him onto his feet and out into the kitchen.When they are out of earshot, she spins him around and studies his face intently.Zayn fidgets restlessly under the scrutiny, unsure what is happening but sure he’s not going to like it.

“You _are_ gay, aren’t you?” she hisses with no warning.  

Zayn’s insides instantly congeal into a solid block of cement.That is most definitely _not_ what he was expectingThe nausea returns with a vengeance as his mind goes fuzzy and his jaw drops.He feels as if the earth has dropped out from under him.He starts to hyperventilate while somehow feeling as if he is smothering at the same time.He opens and closes his mouth a few times but nothing comes out.Finally he takes a few steps away from her, close to just bolting out of the house completely.But she stomps after him and holds him by both shoulders, forcing him to meet her electric eyes.

“Hey,” she says, her tone growing softer.  

“I…I…H-how did y-you…” Zayn stutters, barely able to think coherent thoughts let alone voice them.  

“Oh please!” she scoffs, her usual wicked smirk returning.“Let’s see,” she continues, beginning to count off on her fingers.“When I met you, you were by yourself, on the Great White Way, waiting to see _Phantom of the Opera.”_

Zayn winces as he realizes just how gay that must have looked.He’s usually more careful, but he expected to just blend into the crowd since no one there should have known him.  

“You were practically _drooling_ over Jeremy last night,” she forges onward oblivious to Zayn’s discomfort.  

He tries to back away again but she holds him in place.  

“And that kiss was more awkward than a boner at a funeral,” she finishes dramatically, arching an eyebrow as if daring him to disagree with anything she had said.

He just gapes at her, still trying to process the last two minutes of his life.Years of carefully crafting his public image and Vi had clawed her way through it in less than 48 hours of knowing him. 

“I knew it!” she cries when he doesn’t contradict her.She squeals excitedly and throws her arms around him, spinning them both in a circle.Finally she holds him at arms length and bounces on the balls of her feet.  

“I’ve always wanted a gay best friend,” she hisses giddily.  

Zayn stares at her in astonishment.Her expression softens and she leans up on her tip toes to kiss him on the cheek, smiling warmly.He still wants to curl up in a corner but maybe this isn’t as bad as he was expecting it to be for someone to find out about him.He’s surprised to find the corner of his own mouth to be quirking up slightly when she squeals again.  

“Of course your secret is safe with me,” she assures, elbowing him playfully.“But you’re a part of our family now and there won’t be any judgement when you do decide to tell them.And I do mean _when._ Not _if._ ” She gives him a pointed look.  

Zayn knows he should feel relieved about that but he finds it a little hard to believe that no one in the orchestra would have a problem with it.  

“Oh!” she squawks, hooking her arm through his.“And you _have_ to give me all the deets on which boys you’re crushing on and who else you think might be closet cases.I need to know these things.”Then she pauses.“Just promise me you’ll stay away from Nick,” she warns, suddenly serious.  

Zayn grins at her as they slowly walk back towards the living room.“Don’t worry, I will.I mean, it’s pretty obvious that he’s crazy about you.Why aren’t you two a thing?”

Vi freezes at that.“What?” she exclaims, flushing a little.“No!…No, no, no.That’s not what I meant.He’s dating _Valerie Holloway,”_ she growls.“And you do _not_ want to get on her bad side, especially where it comes to Nick.”  

Zayn is a little startled.Nick has clearly been blatantly jealous of the attention Zayn’s been getting from Vi.And judging by how much she is still blushing, Vi feels something for the guy too.He decides not to push the situation for now though.Although he gets all the confirmation he needs when they reenter the living room and Nick immediately starts glaring daggers at him.They take their seats back and the game continues.  

An endearingly dorky guy with long, floppy brown hair is next to spin.Zayn met him earlier and thinks his name is Jonny.The bottle whirls and whirls eventually coming to a stop pointing directly at Zayn again.Zayn wants to pass out on the spot.The other guy looks a little nervous too, as this is the first guy-guy pair to come up.Vi is shooting him a sympathetic look like she was afraid this was going to happen and Nick is sort of smirking maliciously.  

Zayn grits his teeth.This whole thing with Nick needs to stop before it becomes too toxic.And should he really be this uncomfortable with himself anyway?He makes a split second decision that he is sure he’s going to regret tomorrow.But for now, he just doesn’t care anymore.  

“Now that’s more like it!” he announces with a grin, jumping into the center.He’s amazed he could get the words out.For once, Vi looks speechless.Nick appears slightly baffled.Jonny looks like a deer in the headlights.Before he can second-guess himself, Zayn grabs the kid by the sides of his face and kisses him hard.He doesn’t really know what he’s doing but he instinctually slips his tongue down into the other's mouth.This time there’s no revulsion.This time it feels _right_.People are starting to clap and cheer them on.He is just starting to get into it when Jonny is shoving him away, spluttering.  

“Dude,” he gasps.“I have a girlfriend.” He points to a redhead across the circle.  

“Sorry,” Zayn says, but she’s too busy giggling with her friends to care.  

Vi is smiling at him, shaking her head with disbelief.He shoots a furtive wink at Nick, who actually grins back him.Satisfied, he reclaims his seat, body buzzing with adrenaline.No one is looking at him like he has the plague.No one seems to be judging him.Most just seem to still be laughing as Jonny tries to rinse his mouth out with shitty beer.

At least now there’s no doubt in his mind that he’s completely, 100% homosexual.And it feels surprisingly liberating that now a dozen and a half other people know it too.He had pictured this a thousand times and every scenario was a disaster.But this…this he can handle.He still can’t believe he actually did it though.He thinks about what Vi told him and finally understands why he did.These people could be part of his family.New characters in his story.The only thing that can stand in the way of that is himself.And he’s done enough self-isolation to last a lifetime.Maybe college won’t be so bad after all.  

…….

The party ends shortly after that.Surprisingly several people go out of their way to say bye to Zayn.When they finally make it outside, he heaves a sigh of relief.Sure he has decided to be more a part of society, but all this was really pushing his limits too soon.  

_Baby steps,_ he tells himself. _Baby steps._

It’s only when he’s been dropped back off at his dorm that Zayn realizes he’s still barefoot, shirtless, and wearing Nick’s trunks.He had left his own clothes in Nick’s room.  

_Well shit…_

He decides to just deal with all that later.Which would have been just fine if he hadn’t just found a sock stretched over the door handle to his room.He contemplates just pushing through anyway, giving a big fuck you to Liam.Instead he snaps a pic of the door, sock and all, and sends it to Vi.

**Z:What is this?**

Just a few short seconds later:

**V:BAHAHAHAHA**

**V:Classes haven't even started and you, my friend, have already been sexiled**

**Z:Sexiled???**

But he doesn’t need to wait for her answer because he’s suddenly distracted by the lewd sounds seeping through the door.Loud rhythmic thumping as a bed bangs against the wall absurdly hard.Each bang is followed by a high-pitched, depraved yowling, like what Zayn imagines sluts in some cheap porno would make.Under all that noise he can hear deeper grunts and the bellows of powerful lungs pumping hard.He abruptly turns and hurries away as _those_ particular sounds conjure up inappropriate images in his head.

_Oh!_ he thinks. _SEXiled._  

He settles in a lounge at the end of the hall.It’s right by the stairs so he’ll be able to see if any trashy girls come stumbling past.Hopefully she does leave soon so he can get to his bed.Otherwise he’ll just have to crash on one of these couches, as embarrassing as that would be.He texts Vi again.

**Z:PS Left my shoes and clothes at Nick’s…**

**V: I’ll tell Nick to bring your stuff tomorrow**

**V:PS you are so naive its cute XD**

**V:It means he doesn't want you to interrupt while he's gettin freaky with a hot piece of ass**

**Z: yeah i heard enough to figure it out myself :/**

**V:GROSS**

**V:Is he at least cute?**

**Z:I guess you could say that…**

Zayn blushes even as he’s sending it.This is ridiculous.Why is it so hard to think about his roommate without all these crazy tingly feelings?Why can’t he just hate Liam in peace?He rapidly taps out a follow-up text.  

**Z:Hes a total d-bag, tho**

**V:Too bad**

**V:Well you can crash on my floor anytime, love :)**

**Z:Thanks :)**

Zayn smiles, growing more and more certain that he might actually be able to enjoy himself this semester despite his shitty luck with roommates.  

He is just starting a game of Temple Run when the door to the stairs swings open.Zayn looks up and grins when he sees Niall coming through.The smile falters slightly when he notices Niall holding hands with some punkish kid.He has lime-green hair in chaotic spikes.His face and ears are covered in piercings to the point of being grotesque and he has entirely too much guy-liner caked around his eyes.He’s wearing insanely tight jeans, a metal studded belt, and a black graphic tee supporting some band Zayn’s never heard of.  

Niall beams when he catches sight of Zayn. “Hey there, hot stuff!” he calls out, much to the other guy’s obvious displeasure.Zayn flushes at the compliment and tries to play it off cooly. 

Niall releases his hand and ventures into the lounge while his boyfriend lingers in the hall, his foot already tapping impatiently.He lets out a low whistle, eyes tracking over Zayn’s exposed torso.  

“Not that I normally mind sexy bodies on display in public places, but what exactly are you doing?” he asks with a playful wink.Zayn is definitely blushing out of control now.  

“I l-left my clothes at a pool party,” he manages to get out.  

“ _You_ went to a party tonight?” Niall asks incredulously.It takes Zayn a minute to realize he’s teasing.  

“My friend Vi is determined to turn me into a social butterfly,” Zayn chuckles.  

“What? And you didn’t invite me?” Niall feigns indignation.  

Before Zayn can respond, Greenie is calling out from the hall.“Come on, Niall!” he snaps, voice equal parts irritated and demanding. 

Zayn swears he catches a fleeting glimpse of exasperation on Niall’s face.He instantly dislikes this guy almost as much as he loathes Liam.  

Niall flashes him a brief apologetic look.“I gotta go.See you around Zayn.”  

With a wave, he is gone.Zayn grinds his teeth. _How did that reject ever win over someone as sweet as Niall?_

He tries not to think about it anymore as he resumes his game.About twenty minutes later and he hears a door close nearby.He looks up in time to see a brunette bombshell hurry past in rumpled clothes and rats-nest hair.  

_Looks like that’s my cue…_

Zayn heads towards his room slowly, hopefully giving Liam enough time to at least partially dress himself.He contemplates chewing the guy out for keeping him locked out this late but he decides not to give him the satisfaction.Thankfully the sock is already gone from the door so he goes ahead and pushes his way inside.  

Liam is picking up blankets and pillows off the floor around his bed.The room definitely smells even muskier than normal.Zayn is itching to whip out his bottle of Febreeze again and go to town on the whole room, Liam included.His roommate is unfortunately still shirtless but he has at least thrown on a pair of athletic shorts.He looks like he is about to say something snarky but he comes up short when he sees Zayn in just his trunks.Zayn completely ignores him and just climbs straight into his bed, rolling over to face the wall.He falls to sleep with a smile on his face, thinking about how he is finally making friends.For once, he is excited about what tomorrow may bring.  

……

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okey Dokey. That was a long one. Really hope you all enjoyed it. 
> 
> In case you're curious, I decided I would include a description of Zayn's tattoos down here. I was going to have it in the story but it was just too awkward trying to fit it in somewhere. Anyway, please don't get offended that I changed so much. Once I started thinking about it, I realized how many of his real tattoos that I don't like or just don't get. I mean seriously. That caricature of Perrie is hideous and is gonna really suck if they ever happen to actually split up. And don't even get me started on the space monkey....Anyway most of them just don't fit my character so please bear with the changes. Thanks.
> 
> Center of Chest: Red violin with wings (for obvious reasons)
> 
> Right Collarbone: grandmother's name in Arabic  
> Left Collarbone: "Be true to yourself" in Arabic
> 
> Right side: Extensive rose vine extending from underarm down to waistline (similar to this but on the front: http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/46/04/66/46046619d4145a3ce63890b093243710.jpg
> 
> Deathly Hallows symbol on left hip (where the "don't think I won't" currently is)
> 
> Right inner forearm: Treble clef like this (in place of the microphone and boombox): http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/3c/2f/d9/3c2fd91f5e704c3f007d290cc11d3e29.jpg
> 
> Same ZAP tattoo (my Zayn likes comics too)
> 
> Same fingers-crossed tattoo 
> 
> DNA double helix around right elbow (in place of bandana)
> 
> Same snake on upper right arm and shoulder
> 
> Same sparrow on back of right hand
> 
> Same pink floyd tat on inside of right bicep (his dad's favorite band)
> 
> Same yin yang on outside of left wrist
> 
> Three bird silhouettes on left bicep: http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/d6/04/11/d604110b6f2f642d20208e8205cbdf1e.jpg
> 
> Weeping angel for his grandmother on back: http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/46/0f/58/460f582b4a0571f6feff4b628dc8cc36.jpg


End file.
